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thetriggeredhappy · 4 years ago

Note

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently.  And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”  “What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.

#father-son bonding au #dad!spy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #shut up me #my fanfiction #everybody talks #really happy with this one even if it took Way Too Fucking Long

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systematicallycapricious · 3 years ago

Photo

Tsukiyomi x A-SSW x Minazuki! Because I like Tsukiyomi's design too much, and it just has such Minazuki vibes to it already that it makes combining it with Minazuki for Minazuki-specific designs really fun. Also because the A-SSW Sho Minauzki designs I've seen around the internet are really cool and I wanted to try my hand at my own take. xP

I modeled him primarily after Aigis/Gen 7, but I took a couple elements from Gen 5 and the spinoff character Kurogami as well.

For some more specific detail bits:

His name is engraved on the shoulder cap/s of his body like Aigis’s is in some renditions.

Also speaking of the shoulders; I ended up nixing the gold over-pieces because the more I thought about them, the less logical for movement they seemed, at least in regards to the rest of this specific design. Also, they just generally looked weird. :P

The blades stored on his back can be ejected out of their sheathes on command alongside being drawn normally. I don’t really know the exact mechanism for this, and it probably only has very limited practical use, but such is A-SSW logic.

The blades on his back are also basically replicas of Sho’s iconic katana. (Which I definitely drew way too small... one day I’ll actually succeed at drawing those at the proper size. xP)

Instead of guns, he has miniature blades stored in his fingertips...think kind of like traditional X-Acto knives, with maybe more like pocket knife blades for the fingers with finger-length white coloration? They’re moreso for utility purposes than combat, though they can have uses for technical damage and very close-quarters combat. Also lowkey considering the possibility of some other handy, basic utility tools, like maybe a screwdriver or something, but it would depend when and how he was designed if such features would be considered to be added to him, I guess.

He has knives/throwing knives stashed-up in the “gauntlet” parts of his arms... and potentially calves, I haven’t decided yet on what to do with those. They aren’t attached to his body though; they’re to be independently wielded in his hands. (I know I know, wrist blades look cool... but so much of using blades is in finesse that you just can’t get when they’re placed in such a way. So I can’t in good conscious give him weaponry like that. xP)

His ‘tactical visor’ would be like a mask-version of Tsukiyomi’s helmet, because it looks cool and is on-theme, so why not?

I’m not sure if he should have Sho’s iconic face scar or not? I guess again it would depend on the circumstances he came to be through; and if we’re applying less ‘cause and effect’ logic, if Minazuki, or whoever made his A-SSW body, just cared enough to have it replicated or not I guess?

I’m also not sure if I want to even-out the coloration of his fingers or not... It’s in a very weird limbo between the Gen 7 and Gen 5 designs right now. :T

Also, the uncolored sketch and the independent arm are from the preliminary design doodles, which is why they look a little different. (Trying to include the lines and rivets from Tsuki’s design in that way was waaaay too much of a clashing pattern, that’s for sure. >_>;)

(And an additional fun fact from the drawing side off it: for the non-digital drawings, the base for the gold parts was actually highlighter ink! It looks gold because I modified it with ballpoint pens; which is also what I used to color pretty much everything else.)

#Sho Minazuki #ミナヅキショウ #Tsukiyomi (Persona)#ツキヨミ (ぺルソナ)#Anti-Shadow Suppression Weapon #android

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appendingfic · 5 years ago

Text

Sooo...

@c2ndy2c1d made a pretty fantastic comic, Rockababy (found here), which I would totally recommend reading. And if you can, bookmark and comment on it - good creator engagement can help them with further development on the comic, and I selfishly want to see more.

And I was really inspired and was in a place in my writing cycle that I wanted some (3,500 words worth of) shipping fic so.

I hope y’all enjoy!

Observation

Rating: T

Fandom: Rockababy

Ship: Richie/Shifty

Summary: The facts are undeniable - Richie has been watching Shifty very closely. To what purpose, however, Shifty is determined to find out.

Shifty was sitting at his workbench, but unlike other times, there was no gadget or technology to work with at it. Just a notebook - identical to the dozens Richie kept in his room, observations on aliens - more detailed, now, that he had regular access to all the species that had found their way to Earth.

Identical in all respects except for one.

This notebook's contents were exclusively about <I>Shifty</I>. He steeled himself to open the book again, page through notes that were both more detailed and less focused than he was used to from Richie's writings.

"Not ticklish," was scratched out, bold letters next to it reading, "Ticklish at base of spine/tail - DO NOT TOUCH". Richie had inadvertently (Shifty hoped) discovered that fact during one of their photo sessions, documenting the regrowth of Shifty's tail. The memory almost brought a smile to Shifty's face - Richie had been mortified, blushing as he apologized fervently from across the room when Shifty had nearly bolted off the exam table at the touch.

"Has a sense of humor", another page read. "Not slapstick - not observational. Absurd? Smiled at a pun - denied it BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH". Shifty actually smiled at that.

Another was a list of foods, apparently random unless you had been studying Shifty's tastes. Next to the word "Chocolate" was a doodle of Shifty's natural face, frowning. The discovery Shifty didn't like chocolate had seemingly depressed Richie, and Shifty still wasn't certain if he'd disappointed Richie by failing to enjoy that particular human treat. The page after that was another apparently random list of foods, again, unless you'd been trying to determine what foods Shifty liked. Six fruits were circled, lines drawn from them to a margin where Richie had written "FRUIT", and, next to it, "even Durian?" There was a doodle of Shifty's face - natural, again - smiling next to the word "peanut butter", and a line drawn between that and "bananas", a wholly intriguing proposition Shifty vowed to explore later.

There was something crossed out with heavy lines next to the word "suckers" - the only letters Shifty could make out were "OR-" and "-IXA-", and the tail end of a question mark. As he had no idea what the note could have been, he left it alone.

Especially as there were other, more puzzling notes filling the notebook. A list of numbers which had been mystifying until Shifty recognized one as his normal body temperature, at which point, the others included a startlingly accurate indicator of at what temperature Shifty started feeling cold. There was a number underlined several times, which Shifty recognized as the temperature the fever he'd had two months ago had pushed him to, and a rambling series of notes that Shifty recognized as documenting Richie's frenzied attempts at treatment when Shifty had finally admitted he was sick (not that the NESB didn't have perfectly adequate medical care, but Richie had been adamant Shifty shouldn't have to recuperate in their medical lab or, as Shifty had suggested, handle it himself).

Dozens of drawings - of the patterns on Shifty's skin, of his hands, of his tail. Detail of his face - or attempts, as Richie had scribbled over each one. Shifty stared at one such attempt for a moment before flipping to find the doodles next to the lists of Shifty's favorite and least favorite foods. Looking at those drawings, he couldn't pinpoint what had frustrated Richie about the others - the disappointed frown on drawn Shifty's face felt true to life, and while Shifty didn't see his own smile much, the delighted cartoon Shifty looked - much the way he felt when one of his friends drew a smile out of him.

The notes were clearly the work of months of observation - most, if not all, of the period of their...acquaintanceship (friendship. They were friends. The first people who'd seen his natural form and agreed to raid a corporate lab to rescue an infant alien were his friends). And Richie must have been keeping it with him most of the time, as Shifty had discovered the notebook on the couch when Richie had last visited.

So...months of observations. At first glance, somewhat scientific, unless you'd seen Richie's other work, and realized how little of the notebook's contents lacked the - objective veneer he maintained for other work. The notes he included with the photographs of Shifty he submitted to the NESB were professional, and rarely included any of the banter Shifty had to keep up to distract himself from the vague discomfort of being under such close examination.

This notebook was more of the same.

...Technically.

For all it didn't involve the complete suite of photographs sitting in an NESB lab somewhere, the notes were more intimate. They all touched on things that no one should know without having been close to Shifty. It wasn't that he suspected Riche were keeping the notes to - sell them to tabloids or something ("Aliens Love Peanut Butter" wouldn't sell papers, he guessed).

But not knowing what Richie was trying to accomplish with this left Shifty a little uneasy. They were supposed to hang out the next day, ostensibly to study for their calculus final, although both of them were far beyond needing the additional help, which meant it would be a perfect opportunity to get some answers.

Ms. Cunningham answered the door when Shifty arrived at their home, eyes brightening at the sight of him. "Blueberry!" she said, kissing him on both cheeks as she stepped around him to step outside, ignoring the flush on Shifty's cheeks (in human guise, it at least remained confined to his face). "I assume you're here to see Richie - he's in his lab, while I'm off to mine." She pulled Shifty in for a hug before letting go and stepping back to grin at him. "So you boys have fun, and make sure Richie eats."

"Oh - absolutely," Shifty replied, watching Ms. Cunningham drive away. He stepped inside; the Cunninghams had opened their home indiscriminately to Shifty, and he'd only recently become comfortable with it. He knew they had good reason not to worry about him wandering around their home, even if he was expected. He didn't have much reason to wander, of course, except, taking Ms Cunningham's comment into consideration, to bring Richie a sandwich (and experiment with the notion of peanut butter and bananas for himself).

When Shifty descended the stairs into Richie's home lab (an examination table, a desk, and a couch that had migrated down there at some point in the last several months), Richie barely looked up from a notebook he was writing in, at least until Shifty set a plate down next to him.

He looked up and smiled at Shifty, an open, bright expression that made Shifty glad he hadn't let his human form drop, because his tail had developed a traitorous tendency to wag when Richie smiled at him.

"Your mother said you should eat," Shifty said as an explanation.

"Oh, yeah, thanks." Richie picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and set it down again. He twisted around to look up at Shifty, a frown almost taking over his mouth before his expression smoothed out. "Did you want to get started on studying?"

"Come on," Shifty replied, leaning against the desk so he could look down at Richie's notebook (neat, organized, nothing like the one in Shifty's bag). "You and me have studied enough. I'm just here to keep you from starving to death."

Richie looked back at his sandwich, and picked it up for another bite, apparently focused on it while he ate, although Shifty was certain Richie kept glancing sidelong at him.

"You're, uh. Just trying to keep me fed?" Richie asked. There was a tone to his voice, almost - lilting, and Shifty suspected he was being teased.

"Well, I also wanted to ask you about something you left at my place," Shifty replied. "It probably fell out of your backpack or something-"

"I'm sorry!" Richie blurted, holding up his sandwich between them like a shield.

Shifty, who hadn't expected such a violent reaction, stood, shocked, until he saw jam leaking from the bottom of Richie's sandwich. He caught the drop before it could hit the floor and licked it off his finger.

When he actually looked back at Richie, Richie was staring at him.

"What?" Shifty demanded.

"You...aren't mad?"

"I don't know," Shifty replied. "I'm not sure what you're apologizing for."

"O - oh." Richie's cheeks flushed as he looked away from Shifty. "I thought you found the. Uh. Pictures."

"The drawings?" Shifty asked, and somehow, Richie's cheeks went redder, his entire posture tensing into something that made it look like he was about to bolt.

"Richie?" Shifty asked, leaning forward, realizing only as he reached out to Richie that he'd dropped back to his natural form, pale, clawed fingers coming to rest on Richie's shoulder.

"I kept some of the photos," Richie said. "The ones you didn't really want the NESB to keep because they were a little…" He trailed off, and Shifty, remembering the discussion and in his natural form, felt his whole body blush, because.

Richie had tried to be professional when taking the pictures, requesting standard, clinical poses, but even so, some of them had ended up looking a little-

Well, like the pinups Boomer had implied Richie kept in his room.

"It just seemed a shame, because they're good pictures, and you look really - you look good in them. I haven't shown them to anybody or anything, but…" He trailed off, staring at his feet, and if Shifty were inclined to hugging anyone besides Buttons, he might have tried to hug Richie to calm him down.

Except while Richie had panicked over the photographs, the mention of drawings seemed to have freaked him out worse.

"Can you maybe tell me what you found?" Richie asked, voice a little reedy. "So I know what I'm freaking out about?"

"It was a notebook," Shifty replied, pulling the book out of his bag and handing it over. "At first I thought it was one of your alien data books, but it was - about me, and sort of...personal?"

"I'm sorry," Richie repeated, snatching the book out of Shifty's hands to clutch it against his chest. "I wasn't like - secretly trying to find a way to hurt you or anything. Obviously, I've been paying attention if there was anything you were allergic to because I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I got you killed because you had a peanut allergy or something."

"You also appear to think it's a tragedy I don't like chocolate," Shifty pointed out, and Richie, who'd seemed to be calming down, flushed ducking his head to hide it behind his notebook.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," Shifty said, settling against the desk so he could lean closer to Richie, squeeze his shoulder in a way he hoped was reassuring. "I mean, it's a little weird - and it's sort of driving me crazy trying to figure out what it's for-"

"I just wanted to figure you out," Richie said. When Shifty didn't respond immediately, he continued, knuckled still white from the strain of holding onto his notebook. "Like - I thought maybe I didn't understand you because you were an alien, so I started paying attention. Like if you were allergic to anything, or if you're ticklish or sensitive-"

"If I can get sick," Shifty interrupted, bringing Richie up short, quiet as he considered that.

"Yeah. And I didn't really have friends before, so I was also trying to figure out friend stuff, like what you liked, what you didn't-"

"I do like puns," Shifty said. At Richie's slightly shaky stare, he shrugged. "It's fun, playing around with words like that."

"I…" Richie's gaze drifted down to his notebook, one hand twitching; it was almost certain he was fighting the urge to document this new revelation immediately.

"You can write it down," Shifty said gently. "Now that I know it's just you being - observant, I don't mind."

"Oh." Richie set the notebook down and flipped open to the page on which he'd mused on Shifty's sense of humor, making a few notations on it. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it," Shifty allowed. He eyed his own sandwich, forgotten in Richie's panic, wondering if it was safe to start in on it again. Probably not; this conversation didn't feel over yet. "I liked the drawings of me in the notebook. They're - good." He paused a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts. "I liked the little cartoons."

Richie scowled. "They're dumb. I only drew them because I can't get your face right when I'm drawing it seriously."

"I don't think it's dumb. That smiling face looks like - how I feel when I'm smiling."

"...Oh." Richie closed the notebook, but didn't move after that. "I'm glad. That you aren't upset. I don't want to upset you."

"Hm," Shifty replied. "I don't think you would. Do anything that would upset me." And now that he was...observing, considering facts with an assessing eye, Shifty had a - hypothesis.

Richie had been watching Shifty <I>very</I> closely. He had in his possession photographs they had both decided were a little - much for the scientists at the NESB to see. And there were...drawings, somewhere, that Richie didn't want Shifty to see.

Without his conscious input, Shifty's tail began to swing behind him, a slow horizontal drag that Richie had probably been watching Shifty closely enough to interpret. Shifty leaned over Richie, finding he liked the idea of - testing his hypothesis.

"You've been watching me pretty closely, haven't you?" he asked. And Richie had taken his eyes off of Shifty, because when he looked up, his face paled and he licked his lips, a nervous swipe of his tongue.

"Yeah, but not in a creepy way-"

"It's a little creepy," Shifty pointed out. "I'm pretty sure there's a drawing of the marks just above my tail in there. And I don't have much chance to look at it, but it's a pretty good likeness."

Richie closed his eyes. "Sorry, I-"

"Where did I give you the impression I minded?" Shifty retorted, and Richie's eyes snapped open, jaw dropped, and he just...stared.

"Wha," he croaked out after a few quiet moments.

"It's a little creepy for - professional interest," Shifty continued, as he let his tail continue to sway behind him. "But if it's a more - personal interest." He paused, hoping he hadn't read this embarrassingly wrong, or he'd never be able to face either of the Cunninghams for the rest of his life. And then he leaned down just a little more, so the next words were spoken just next to Richie's ear. "That might be a project worth - exploring."

In Shifty's defense, everything he knew about flirting he'd learned from television, and the "bad boy" type he'd sought to emulate always acted this smooth.

In Richie's (as Shifty learned later), no one had ever hit on him before.

So Richie's startled flailing resulted in a bruised and slightly bloody nose on Shifty's part, and a possibly fatal case of embarrassment and remorse on Richie's, as he sat as far away from Shifty as the couch allowed while Shifty iced his nose.

With Richie licking his (metaphorical) wounds at giving Shifty literal ones, Shifty suspected he would have to speak up if he ever wanted to resolve this.

"I'd sort of like to know," Shifty said, at last. When Richie looked up, his eyes were almost looking wet, just on the edge of tears.

"What?"

"If you're just - looking, or if you. Want," Shifty concluded, finding the words awkward to force out. "Me," he clarified, and he probably shouldn't have, because his face was starting to flush again, which meant it was a matter of time until it encompassed his entire body. "Because if you do, I'd. Apparently, I like smart, sweet guys who care about. Snakes." He wasn't certain how he'd managed to make this sound more awkward than it already was, but. Here they were. Shifty with all of his cards on the table, and Richie.

Staring.

He was used to Richie staring - Richie was the budding xenobiologist, and whether Shifty was in human guise or his natural form or somewhere in between, Richie wanted to see anything he did that was out of the ordinary. But he wasn't used to watching Richie staring, and Shifty suspected if he ever had, they might have had this conversation a while ago.

Because Richie's gaze dragged over Shifty, along the frills on his head and arms, the patterns along his skin, including the heart-shaped one on his forehead, the pointed, inhuman head, and his tail, from the tip to the base, where Richie knew Shifty was - sensitive.

Richie pressed his palm against the end of Shifty's tail, a feather-light touch. And then he trailed his palm along the frills, a lighter touch, if possible, and Shifty shivered. Richie's gaze shot up to meet Shifty's, eyes wavering, wide, afraid.

(Shifty dismissed the thought that Richie was worried what Shifty would do, but that left as the only possible conclusion that Richie was worried for Shifty.)

"Gentler treatment than I'm used to," Shifty said, winking at Richie. "Seeing as I live with a kid with grabby hands." When Richie didn't move, Shifty flicked his tail to brush the end against the back of Richie's hand. "You can keep going."

Richie's gaze shifted from his own hand back to the lazy waving of the tip of Shifty's tail. And the next touch was - firmer, more present, if still tentative. Shifty grinned and twisted around toward the back of the couch so he could provide Richie access to his tail without discomfort, even if he had to crane his neck slightly to watch Richie draw his hand along the frills of Shifty's tail.

It was - intimate, if at the same time a step back from some of the - implications of what they'd been talking about. Still, the slightly dazed expression on Richie's face faded over the course of several minutes, and gave way to something more - analytical.

"So," Richie mused. "There's some. Stuff. We haven't talked about. About your species and. You. And." His voice rose throughout his stuttering statement, until Shifty decided any amusement he took from Richie's slowly-growing discomfort would be cruel and a diversion from Shifty's - well, not ultimate goal, but his most immediate one.

So Shifty tugged his tail from Richie's grip and crawled the short distance that separated their bodies, leaning up just enough to kiss Richie. Just a press of lips, more a statement of intent than anything.

Richie didn't jerk backward - but only just. His cheeks were red, and he was looking at anything but Shifty. "What-"

"You were working your way up to a question," Shifty replied. "I was giving you an answer. As for romance, that's a yes. As for kissing, that's a yes. As for - other concerns, I figure we can...explore that question in further detail if the rest seems to be working out." Shifty smiled, aware the slow, deliberate expression was likely one Richie hadn't seen before, a notion confirmed at the distant, glazed expression on Richie's face (either that or the promise that any forays into more complicated activities would come with the expectation of scientific inquiry and rigor, even if Richie and Shifty were the only people who ever benefited from it).

Shifty leaned back in toward Richie, pausing this time when he was almost close enough to touch. "Soo," he drawled, grinning. "What's the verdict?"

Richie crossed the few remaining inches to press his lips against Shifty's, and then press forward to - experiment, Shifty realized, to observe and detail his findings. Shifty grinned against Richie's mouth at the thought, surging forward to contribute to Richie's obvious desire to explore.

They passed an hour or so that way, before Shifty dropped his head onto Richie's lap, looking up as Richie traced along the marks on Shifty's face, face fixed in concentration, until that concentration faltered and Richie gave Shifty's mouth a strange look.

Shifty smirked. "What's that look for?"

"Your smile is - you're really pretty," Richie stammered.

And Shifty might have - suspected Richie thought that, but hearing it sent a thrill along his spine, and his smile widened. "I guessed," he replied, "seeing how you kept all those photos."

Richie ducked his head away, covering his face with his hands. "Oh god, please don't bring that up. It's embarrassing."

"Is it?" Shifty asked, stretching out (and not failing to notice how Richie's gaze darted toward Shifty's stomach as he did so). "Then maybe we could talk about the drawings that came up earlier."

It would take some time, Shifty suspected, before he got a straight answer about those (even if Richie's embarrassment was incredibly telling about the nature of said drawings). But Shifty was certain enough about his intentions, and Richie's own, not to worry overmuch about it. Richie had better things to occupy his time with, now, anyway.

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #rockababy #c2ndy2c1d

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newswcanonprompts · 4 years ago

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prompt #37 - Jedi are like Magpies and love their clones

sorry we haven’t posted in forever! to make up for it, i’m posting one of our longest and detailed prompts (maybe even the longest)- this came from a LONG discussion a few weeks back, and it was a lot of fun. this idea morphed a ton, and it became this huge thing. this is personally my favorite one, so hope you enjoy!

Jedi collect trinkets and wear them!!! Hand them to others as a very important gift

The Clones dont really get it, but they are happy

The jedi make them things like jewelry, keychains, little beaded things, colored strings, they’ll give them feathers, you name it

Its another way to show that they are individuals, and that the jedi know them specifically

The veteran clones have long keychain type things and the shiny clones want them very much and it’s something they look forward to

The padawans hand the commanders things and being sad when the CC’s tell them they can’t take them into battle

Krell gets found out earlier.

“Okay, look, i know krell is… well, he is *something* and i don’t want to accuse a master of the order but have you looked at his men?! where the hell are their keychains?!”

The padawans stage a protest at the senate because how else are they going to make sure that their troops know they are loved and get their trinkets

This idea can get angsty really quickly (finding trinkets after battles, in ship crashes, or post-order 66), but we won’t do that because of how angsty this server already is, we need some fluff sometimes

Palaptine can commit self delete

Clones will paint armor for padawans cause that is how they show honor and stuff

The clones, upon figuring out what they mean, give their jedi trinkets also

Mirialan padawan holding armor they got: “ITS GREEN LIKE ME!”

There are little figurines, some painted rocks, some little shiny things found on the battlefield

The clones who aren’t as good with their hands singing songs or telling stories

The jedi record them and keep them on little datachips that they keep on them at all times

Barriss doesn’t go bad because this is happy time

The jedi padawans start a riot / protest outside the senate building because some clones got their trinkets taken away by asshole civilians because they’re “not human”, just copies

The (now very pissed off) jedi sprung into action

If a snooty senator(s) takes away a clone’s trinket, the jedi just sit back and grind to a halt. Because if the clones, the PEOPLE WHO PROTECT THE REPUBLIC, are gonna get treated like that, the war can wait

The jedi knights and masters just meditate wherever the padawans are protesting

This is done to ‘keep the peace’

If anakin hears a snooty senator degrade the clones, he starts ranting and shouting about their individuality and accomplishments, while pointing at each trinket.

Someone live streams this

Luminara joins in (barriss is right behind)

Aayla too

Luminara, anakin, aayla, tag teamed shouted speech

Ahsoka and barriss are being held back by the CC’s (ahsoka is making some very crude hand gestures and barriss is like “i can name every bone in your body as i break it” - cause barriss has all that healer knowledge)

Once these three are done, mace windu comes along with the council. They think mace is going to scold the three of them until mace starts shouting at the senators too. The council just lets mace do all the talking.

This is the most watched live stream this year. It’s very funny and starts a ton of memes (obi wans face, yoda meditating, the look of “oh shit” on the original snooty senator’s face, the look of surprise on everyone when mace starts shouting too - there is also a gif made of the council looking at the situation, looking at themselves (mostly mace) and then they all step back to let mace do the talking, the clones faces when they see that three jedi and then the jedi high council are defending them)

Mace, rolling up his sleeves: “okay let’s do this”

The senators: backing away in fear

Obi wan might commit a war crime right now because no way people can talk about his troops like that

Obi wan: “am i allowed to kill a senator?”

Cody: “General, do not-”

This whole thing leads to a massive debate and overwhelmingly good PR for the jedi and clones

Shady sheev doesn’t like that. Good PR for the jedi? No thank you. But since this is a fixit he gets his ass kicked later on so everything’s fine (skeevy sheev has to scramble to try to fix his plans though)

All the padawans from that one lightsaber episode (the one on ilum where the younglings got their kyber crystals) are there and SHIT’S GOING DOWN

Petro in particular is very close to kicking someone’s ass

Caleb dume is there also.

“Master depa said we should never raise our blades in revenge or anger. But this is not revenge.” this is war, this is justice, this is defense of a defenseless group

Padme also joins in all of this (but much more calmly)

She also might make some passive aggressive comments about the snooty senators trash outfit

She and all her senator friends are gonna blacklist the original culprit

Padme and bail organa (they also got help from many jedi) put in the clone rights bill the next day

In the halls outside the debate chamber, padme threatens to gut people with her hair pins if they don’t vote in her favor

sure, it’s *technically* extortion, but come on, who’s gonna stop her? those pins are pointy y’all

Anakin tried to help draft / present the bill but he spent most of his time ranting about the injustices the clones have to face (leia had to get it from someone)

Anakin, out of breath: “AND ALL YOU SENATORS JUST SIT HERE, DOING NOTHING, WHEN THEY’RE OUT THERE DYING FOR YOU-”

Padme: “okay ani i got this, drink some water please”

Ahsoka also jumps in

Plo, who’s watching the debate: “little ‘soka, please don’t hurt anyone” (but he’s not about to stop her, after all these are his sons we’re talking about)

If someone said “well they’re not slaves?” anakin would go OFF. if you thought he was angry before… you got another thing coming.

“I AM A FREED SLAVE! I KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE! THESE MEN HAVE LESS RIGHTS THAN I DID AS A SLAVE!”

If the public doesn’t know about his childhood before, they do now

Imagine the shock

Padme: “Ani, deep breaths, it’s gonna be okay.”

Also padme, to the other senators: “well i mean he’s not wrong you assholes”

Padme is also making very well timed comments and suggestions. It’s the most successful day she’s had since she became senator

She’s also revealing all the senators’ dirty secrets

Padme: “oh, senator so-and-so, i released all your finances and your voting history on the holonet. I’m sure your supporters will love that you’re embezzling funds. Oh, you lost your support? Tragic.”

The jedi also have dirt on everyone and they just casually let everything slip like they weren’t secrets

Shady sheev Palpacreep is in his little podium thing during the debate, and he is very pissed, because his plan is getting ruined, but he can’t let it show or else people will discover the truth about him

Anakin: “isn’t it great that we’re finally doing something about it?”

Sheev, pained: “Of course-”

This whole debate is still live streamed - and it’s very popular

The senate who made the original comment and started all of this is #cancelled

This is the greatest thing the galaxy has ever seen / watched because drama

If a jedi dies, and they aren’t brought back to the temple, they are burned with the other dead on the battlefield. Young padawans take their master’s trinkets in remembrance, wanting to follow their path and have tangible proof that the master passed into the force but that they left their mark in the world

You do not burn the trinkets. Krell tried once. It almost started a jedi civil war (maybe that’s how he gets found out)

Or maybe krell was found out because he gives zero trinkets to his men, and everyone caught on and were like “hey wtf man”

But if you wanna make it angsty ( cough cough umbara ) then krell tells the 501st to remove / burn / throw out their trinkets or he’d do it for them

He gives them an example by slicing a very special one that anakin and ahsoka both gave to rex

Krell also slices one of dogma’s. It was the only one dogma had because he was newish to the battalion at the time and wasn’t sure if accepting the trinkets was against regs or not. Krell slashes it and dogma doesn’t say anything but there were tears in his eyes

All the jedi who find out what happened replace all the trinkets so fast. They also give krell’s men a shit ton of presents.

Krell’s men have no idea what to do with them, but they are so touched a few shed tears when they get them

The clones get small tattoos of patterns that the little padawans drew for the men

The tattoos are small because some of them *might* just be random squiggles but the padawans looked so happy the clones just had to get them tattooed

Anakin orders japor wood with padme's bank account to make snippets for the clones because it’s not only a jedi thing, it’s from anakin's homeworld - and that’s like the highest praise you can get from him

The clones might not know exactly what it means but they know its super special

Padme figures out a way to buy japor wood in bulk. Anakin is very touched by this

When snooty senators start badmouthing clones, yoda just sits there and meditates to drive the senators nuts

“Sitting, i am, because stand you bitches, i cannot”

Padme gets many trinkets from the 501st because they all *know* about her and anakin

Any trinkets that she gets she likes to incorporate into her outfits (like the warrior fashionista that she is)

She embroiders some of them into her dresses and hairpieces

They both get a TON of trinkets when the twins are born

Padme also gives trinkets to the 501st, some of the 212th, and all of the coruscant guard. Especially fox cause she sees all the work he does and the senators he has to deal with

She’s besties with the coruscant guard. Like yeah, she knows the 501st and they know about her and anakin (and she’s one of them because of it) but the guard is who she’s always with

She probably wore red on debate day to represent them

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greencharisard · 4 years ago

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I promise I'm still working on that pokemon project, but it's a pokemon-trainer set of 6 of a 'mon that's very detailed so it's taking a lot of time, and I ended up artblocked.

The first pick was the first thing I did after almost a week of not drawing, what happened is roughly this:

- Was still working on-and-off on the pokemon pic set, and a new TLK one.

- Re-downloaded Steam for some reason I can't remember.

- Found out Spore is in there with all three packs and on sale (base game+creepy & cute+ galactic adventures)

- caved and bought it cuz it's been years and I wanted the third pack and a convinient way to access it that wasn't a 10+ y/o disc/code I've used a million times on 5 or 6 PCs.

- Played it for 3 days or so, including a day were I completely messed up my PC by tampering with the core folders (went back to normal now THANK GOD) and played switch games for that day.

- Spent another half day after fixing my PC making an EA account to have a proper acc on Spore itself (had to go forum digging, it's a mess). Then played Spore more.

- In all of this watched one HK meme video and stated getting a bajillion of them in my YT recommendeds.

- Played a bunch of switch games for a day trying to stay away from Spore and start drawing (failed).

- Decided to start playing HK again at piss off o'clock in the evening. Still couldn't get past Hornet in Greenpath.

- Next morning finally beat boss 2 and open up a MASSIVE CHUNK OF THE GAME.

- spend the next 2 or so days playing that, including most of today.

So yeah, I fried my brain, in an attempt at grudging trough the art block I tried making an OC, then also tried making self-inserts because Hollow Knight has been my lifesource for the past few week or so, while Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss have been one of my latest obsessions for months, so it only felt fitting to morph my crittersona to fit in those universes.

- First I wanted to draw him as an imp, technically I already drew him as a demon/sinner, so a creature native to hell seemed like the next best AU choice. I didn't think much about what he would do, I just focused on the design part itself, and even then as you can see I had quite a few ideas I tried out on the side. One of the main reasons that made me think he'd fit as an imp is that in an earlier design he had that I never posted the tip of his tail was arrow shaped instead of being just a tuft like now (I should draw that impish form again sometime, he was basically like now but not a noodle). For the clothes I kinda used stuff I own irl as inspo, while thinking "what would fit the HH/HB style?" so I used a sleeveless hoodie, a black shirt (I have a lot of those, I just made one with a generic skull pattern here), and the only pair of jeans I own that I can actually stand to wear... escept by the time I remembered I wanted to draw those I had already drawn cargo pants on him out of habit, so I just colored them like jeans instead... I would probably love pants like these lmao. Oh and chains linked to the belt loops, I actually have those too, they're made form crafstore legit normal chains, not ones made to be actually worn like this. Listen I got them in high school I was an edgy basard and I didn't know where to get stuff like that so I just asked dad to get some like this instead ok. I have a pair of normal steel and a pair of black ones, here he's wearing the latter.

- The other idea was to turn him into a HK bug, more specifically, a mosskin tribe member from greenpath, cuz it's my favorite stage of the game with how pretty it is (listen the artwork of that game is goreous ok). He would probably be a bit of a loner/outcast, always hiding with his leaf/bush cape; the lighter fuzz is part of his body. I imagine he'd be a side character you have to go out of your way to meet and interact with, and depending on how you do so his outcome in the story may vary: one option is that he just stays like normal if you befriend him, the second is he succumbs to the infaction and he ends up being a secret boss an you have to kill him, a third however is maybe he does get infected, but if you do some sort of side quest before defeating him you can cure/save him still(?) Idk. His boss/infected form is partially inspired by aspids (because they're some of the most annoying enemies and I think that fits him/me well enough :') ), he probably attacks from a distance with a combo of spitting at you directly from the ceiling and throwing bubbles of infection around the stage by swinging his tail; maybe even releasing bursts of orange gas like some other enemies when you hit him (in later pahses). And yes, the name is a pun; I noticed the characters in this game either have descriptive names/adjectives, or normal names so I went with a combo of the two.

art and characters by me, do not copy, trace, repost, reuse ecc without my permission please.

#hollow knight #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #self insert #fan character #fan art #my art #my ocs #my sona #videogame #cartoon

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something-tofightfor · 5 years ago

Text

Take a Sip - Part 2

Pairing: King Caspian x Reader

Word Count: 5760

Rating: M. There’s some suggestion, and a little bit of language, some plotting against the crown... an attempt on someone’s life, some violence... it’s a lot to happen at a harvest festival.

Author’s Note: I’m a few hours late, but here’s some Caspian holiday angst for your Wednesday morning.

As before, it takes place in the same story-line as His Favorite Place, well after part 6. It can technically be read on its own, but knowing that story will be helpful.

Summary: The Harvest celebration is a lot more eventful than you and Caspian would like.

Want to be tagged? Ask! Want to be removed? Ask!

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @dreams-with-thoughts @wangmangagavroche @malionnes

Caspian:

@emyyjemyy @damalseer @thisisparadisemylove @chibiyanai @life-is-a-melody @shinebrightlikeafanbase @halfwit-halfblood @littlemermaidprobz

Unsure:

@banditthewriter @padfootagain @madamrogers @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @traeumerinwitzhelden @ladyblablabla @dreamwritesimagines @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf @honeyydippaa @binbonsadoration @ificouldhelpyouforget @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ms-delos@jeanettexkillian @elioelioeli0 @projectcampbell @giggleberts

Two hours later, you and Caspian were walking arm in arm through the square, taking in the sights. You were pointing things out to him and sampling foods and beverages from carts, all of the vendors being perfectly understanding of the need for caution when you selected an unopened bottle at random, or asked to pick a cake or bite of bread from the bottom of the stack. “Can’t be too careful,” one of the young women had said as she batted her eyes at him, smile tightening as she eyed you. “Your Majesties, it’s an honor for you to try my baking.” She curtsied and then looked again at Caspian, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth slightly. “I hear that the masquerade tonight is open to all?” He looked around the crowd, noting that many Narnians - even the creatures - were wearing masks of their own; some held up by slender sticks that they carried in their hands, others worn as hats or settled over their heads like helmets. What a turnout. She’s amazing at this.

“Yes, it is. As soon as dinner has finished, we’ll start lighting the candles and lanterns and then the event will begin promptly at dusk in the fields.” You spoke up, stepping forward and pointing to another stack of cookies on the woman’s display. “Would it be possible to buy all of these from you?” The young woman’s eyes widened, her hand going to her mouth as you addressed her directly. “They’re very good, and try as I might, I have yet to be able to balance the spices with the pumpkin, and…” You shrugged and Caspian laughed quietly, looking over at you. I didn’t even know you were trying. “We’ll pay you fairly for them, of course, I’m not asking you to give them to us.” As you and the woman worked out the details of the sale, her gaze turning more friendly as you arranged delivery the following morning, Caspian’s eyes again wandered over the crowd, landing on Danmair and Rantawn, who were talking with some of the Royal Guard members animatedly. No concern, still nothing. “Caspian, are you ready?”

He was brought back to the present by your voice, and saying goodbye to the merchant with a nod of his head, the two of you resumed your walk through the crowd. You headed to the outer portion of the square and the decorated path that led to the edge of the village, where the orchards and fields began. “These decorations look beautiful,” he said as his eyes wandered over the colorful flowers and gourds that adorned the edges of the path. “I don’t know how I missed this, I -”

“You haven’t left Cair Paravel in almost a week, Caspian. We’ve only been decorating for a few days, I’m not surprised you didn’t know.” You kept walking, stopping to show him floral arrangements, pausing for him to lean over and touch the banners that many of the women in town had worked on sewing; brightly colored fabric filled with designs depicting the harvest season, the history of Narnia and even Aslan and the Kings and Queens of Old. “We’ll keep these, Caspian. They’re a symbol of how hard working our people are, of how creative.” You spoke into his ear, lips brushing against it. “They love you, Caspian, and wanted to make you happy.” His eyes landed on one of the banners further down the path, a smile growing. Not just me.

“They love you too.” He pulled you forward, stopping in front of it and reaching out to run his fingers along the stitching. “Those are your wedding flowers.” His hand moved to another panel. “There’s your ring.” You stared quietly, and even in the dwindling daylight, when Caspian glanced over at you, he saw the sheen in your eyes, the slight wavering of your lip. “It’s barely been a year, and they’re celebrating you like this, too.” He turned to face you, not caring that there were people milling around you and touched your cheek, head shaking back and forth slightly. “They’ll always celebrate you, even long after we’re both gone.” With a single nod, you agreed with him, turning your gaze back to the banner in front of you before you took a deep breath and pointed.

“There’s the maze we built. Will you try to figure it out with me?” Yes. Of course. Though smaller than the mazes that were within the outer walls of Cair Paravel, Caspian knew that if you’d paid half as much attention to the intricacy of the one constructed out of what looked like corn stalks and baled hay, he was in for a treat.

“Lead the way, my Queen.” giggling, you quickly walked down the path, entering the maze with your hand held tightly by his.

---

It had only taken you half an hour to escape the confines of the maze, precious moments ticking by as Caspian stopped you, tugging on your hand to pull you close to his chest, his lips skating over your cheek as he whispered against your skin. I love you. I need you. I want you. Your breathless sighs were music to his ears, and he was almost certain that you’d led him down the same dead end twice simply to have more time away from the crowd with him. But as you emerged into the twilight, Caspian’s breath was taken away as he saw that the field beyond the maze was awash with light; hundreds of flickering candles were placed inside of carved pumpkins that had been set up in a rough border around the open area and more light came from lanterns that were hung high on curved poles, some of them covered by a gauzy, glittering fabric that softened the glow further, sending glints of twinkling light across the wide field. “What do you think, Caspian?” You spoke from his side, hand held tightly in yours. “We experimented with the way the light -”

“I’ve never seen light do that before. Not even… not even on the sea as we neared Aslan’s Country, not… not after the curse broke. Never.” He looked down at you, a gentle smile on his face. “Who helped you with this, I need to commend them.” You shook your head, biting down on your lower lip. “What, why won’t you tell me?”

“He made me promise not to tell you, he didn’t want to…” Caspian watched as your eyes flicked away from him and to the right, Caspian’s quickly following. Danmair? Really? You shrugged as he returned his gaze to you, but he saw the amusement in your eyes. “Don’t say anything, Caspian. He won’t -”

“Don’t worry, Danmair’s secret is safe with me.” But as the two of you walked around the edges of the clearing, admiring the pumpkins - some simply cut open, others featuring faces or geometric patterns and lit from the back, Caspian found that he couldn’t stop thinking about all of the work it had taken to organize the festival, to reach out and invite Narnia’s citizens, to ensure that even without his help, things were as they needed to be. “Stop.” Caspian squeezed your hand, planting his feet in the soft grass only a few yards where the musicians were setting up. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about -” But you stopped him from speaking, one finger pressed to his lips and a minute shake of your head. Alright. “But I‘m glad that you were completely focused on this,” he said, gesturing around the two of you. “It shows. The people won’t forget this, and neither will I.”

“Good, my King.” You removed your hand from his face, taking a breath. “This is my first Harvest as Narnia’s Queen, and now… well, things had to be different, I couldn’t… I wanted to make it special.” You did. But before Caspian could respond to you, a voice from his left drew his attention.

“Your Majesties, please step this way.” Lord Rantawn was gesturing toward the dais where two chairs had been placed side by side. “You’ll need to lead the toast for the crowd and then take the floor for the first dance of the evening.” The two of you made your way to the chairs where another staff member waited, holding a tray with three glasses and an unopened bottle of wine. Upon reaching it, the staff member bowed slightly, waiting as Danmair reached for the wine, opening the bottle in front of Caspian’s eyes and raising it to his lips, never breaking eye contact as he took a long drink directly from the bottle. “Pick your goblets, please.” Caspian let you go first, and once both of you had the golden vessels in your hands, Danmair poured the liquid into them, nodding again at the waiter before he set the bottle back down.

“Thank you, my Lord.” Though a member of his Council, Danmair had time and time again proven his loyalty in more ways than by giving advice, and when Caspian permitted it, he stepped directly into potential danger; sampling food and drink, seeking out information - and, most recently, spending the days with you when you left the castle’s confines. Caspian leaned in to speak directly into the man’s ear. “For everything.” When he straightened up, Caspian glanced down at you, watching as you looked over the crowd that had been milling around, conversation buzzing. Time to begin. He raised two fingers, catching the attention of one of the musicians, who raised a horn to his lips and blew - a long, low note that echoed throughout the clearing, immediately silencing the crowd.

Surveying the crowd as he stepped forward, Caspian looked out over his subjects - man and beast alike - allowing himself to smile as he made eye contact with many of them, most faces hidden by elaborate masks. He raised one hand to touch your back, glancing over his shoulder at you as you stepped with him, straightening up. Short speech, a few dances… night’s almost over.

“Good evening!” Raising his voice so that he could be heard across the crowd, Caspian began speaking, mentally preparing for his second address of the evening. “Another year has come and gone, another fruitful harvest has helped to ready the land for the winter months.” A noise of assent passed through the crowd, many raising their cups higher. “Each year, we celebrate the harvest for many reasons, but the most important of those is that we, as a country, have again prospered by the grace of Aslan.” Caspian cleared his throat. “This year’s celebration is most special as it is the first that I’ve shared with my wife by my side.” Caspian’s hand left your back and he held it out, palm upturned as you took it with your right, grinning up at him. “But it’s even more special because she planned the entire thing this year, with the help of some very trusted and capable individuals.” Caspian raised his goblet, eyes leaving your face to move over the crowd again. “Thank you for welcoming her the way that I have, for accepting her as your Queen and for allowing her to turn this festival into something magical.” Caspian licked his lips, gesturing with his goblet toward the crowd. “To Aslan.” They repeated the words. “To all of you.” Again, they echoed him, enthusiasm apparent. “To Narnia!” At the last word, Caspian turned to face you and you to him, raising your own goblet and tapping the edge against his.

“To you, my King.” You winked at him and took a long drink, eyes closing at the taste of the sweet wine, and Caspian too put his lips to the edge of his cup, swallowing twice as he emptied it. Delicious. “Now dance with me, Caspian.” He nodded as you put the cups back onto the tray and then led you out into the crowd, where you took your place and waited for the band to start playing. When they did, the two of you began stepping along with the notes, one of his hands at your waist and the other tightly holding yours. Caspian danced with you for three songs, spinning you around easily while looking at no one else and paying attention to little aside from the way you felt in his arms and the sound of the music as it carried you through the damp grass.

By the time you pulled away from him, head thrown back in laughter, Caspian was almost dizzy with his affection for you. “I love you.” You nodded, reaching up to touch the side of your face, straightening your mask. “Let’s take a break.” You nodded, stepping off to the sidelines of the party, making your way through the other dancing couples. The two of you joined a short line at one of the refreshment stations that had been provided to the crowds, and Caspian watched as you used a dipper to fill your cup with cider, but rather than sipping as was custom for a Queen, you drained it in only a few gulps. “Thirsty?” You handed him your cup and he filled it for himself. That is good. “Would you like to sit, or?” Shaking your head, you waited until he finished with his drink before linking arms with him and wandering through the crowd, greeting people as you passed them.

“This is important, right, Caspian?” He nodded, even though he knew you weren’t waiting for an answer. “Letting the people know that nothing is amiss… and even if … he is here, showing him that we’re not afraid.” I thought we weren’t going to… You stopped walking after a few minutes, and though he couldn’t see any of them, Caspian knew that his men still had their eyes on the two of you. “I’m having a good time, and so are you, I can see that your cheeks are red.” You raised a hand and he felt you pinch his skin, lips pursed together in a smile. “We needed this.” He nodded, leaning into your touch.

“You know what else I need?” The inhale of breath given as your answer told him that you did, and he continued. “You, in my arms, in our - “

“Excuse me.” Caspian stopped speaking immediately, eyes drawn downward to the source of the voice. “Your Majesty, may I have this dance?” He looked back up at you, watching as your mouth dropped open and you immediately dropped to one knee, allowing yourself to get to eye level with the boy that had approached you. “My mom said not to -”

“Of course.” You smiled at the boy - who was wearing a fox mask - while bowing your head. “But only if you tell me your name.” The boy clapped excitedly before getting control over himself again and he held out a hand, a solemn look on his face.

“My name is Cirso.” A Telmarine. “And you look very pretty tonight.” Caspian fought back a smile, watching as you glanced up at him, eyes bright. Caspian decided it was time to interject, and he repeated the boy’s name.

“Make sure you bring her back to me after your dance, young man.” The boy stared up at the king, mouth slightly agape. I remember being that age. “Now go, before I change my mind.” Caspian winked and and watched as you stood, holding your hand out and allowing the boy to lead you onto into the middle of the crowd of dancers. He watched you closely as you took both of the boy’s hands, spinning slowly with him as you danced, the boy keeping up with you easily, and then even Caspian had to laugh as others made their way to you, watching both of you move. When the song ended, Caspian stepped forward to collect you, but you found his gaze, waving him off and started a second dance with the boy, this time inviting other children and teenagers into the group, taking advantage of the upbeat music the band was playing.

“She fits in here, your Majesty.” Caspian’s eyes stayed on you even as the man stepped beside him. “The people love her.” Nodding slowly as you held your arm up to spin a teenage girl a few times, Caspian took his eyes off of you and looked to his right, where Rantawn stood.

“Not everyone, my Lord.” Your laugh carried to him, and Caspian’s attention was again diverted, watching as you threw your head back, hair tumbling out of the pins that held it and falling against your shoulders as you laughed. “There are those…”

“Still no word from the ships or our men, Caspian.” Rantawn sighed, bringing his own cup to his lips and shaking his head. “We thought…”

“No news is good news, right?” The second man agreed, and Caspian took the pause in music as a chance to scan the crowd again, smiling as the people - his people - celebrated another year of success, another year of fortune and good health. “Maybe the rumors were unfounded.”

“Unfortunately, I doubt that.” Rantawn spoke again, using one hand to point at the guards stationed around the party, their uniforms and unmasked faces standing out. “But we’re prepared, and…” The music started again and Caspian searched for you, looking for your hair now, and when he found it, he focused on you, no more than ten yards from him, but surrounded by people. “You and the Queen…” But his friend’s words faded as Caspian watched you intently, lips parting as he took a half step forward, his hand rising to pull the mask from his eyes, dropping it to the ground.

You looked around as you danced, the lanterns casting flecks of iridescent light against your skin, and Caspian’s throat got tight as he watched you reach out, taking a cup from someone’s hand and lifting it to your lips. No. His feet moved, eyes never leaving you as he pushed past people, heart racing. No, no. “Stop!” He finally spoke, feeling the urgency of the single word as it left his lips. “Stop!” You heard him despite the music, eyes finding his over the rim of the dull silver cup that you were holding, and as you saw the look on Caspian’s face you froze. “Don’t!” Please. But he watched again as the same hand that had given you the drink reached forward to tip the bottom, angling the opening toward your waiting mouth.

He watched your grip on the cup loosen, watched it fall from your hand, watched you turn in the direction of the outstretched arm, one hand reaching for your waist. Caspian heard Rantawn’s voice beside him and was vaguely aware of the movement of other guards, but he was still focused on you, on your movement, on the way the shimmering lights made it look as if your lips were wet. No. He heard a scream and watched as your arm moved, once forward and then back, and then Caspian was at your side, hand on the hilt of the sword that he’d somehow drawn as he hurried to you. The man on the ground was clutching his side and Caspian glanced down, his lip curling into a sneer as he watched the heavy mask fall away, revealing the bearded face of his former adviser, the tip of his sword mere inches from the center of the man’s stomach, where a tear in the fabric from your dagger was visible, blood seeping through it.

The crowd scattered as Caspian’s guards reached where you were, and as soon as they had the man surrounded, he turned to you, dropping his weapon as he reached out. “You didn’t…” your eyes were wide and Caspian removed your mask, his hand going to your cheek and the other reaching for your lips, wanting to -

“Don’t, my King.” Your voice was trembling, eyes downcast as you stared at the man that had been pulled into a sitting position by Danmair. “Don’t touch my lips.” Oh no. You finally looked up at him and he saw the tears in your eyes, glittering even more brightly than the rainbows cast by the lanterns. “I… I didn’t even…” You were on the verge of tears and Caspian heard himself yelling before he even realized what he was doing.

“A doctor! Call for a doctor! Call someone, get them…” He was frantic, the hand still on your cheek, the other one hovering only an inch from your face. “Did you…” Your mouth hung open slightly and he watched as you fought to keep from wetting your lips.

“I don’t… Caspian, I don’t know.” With a snarl, he whirled around to face Sor, hands falling from your body as he pushed his guards to the side and grabbed the man by his bloodied shirt.

“What was it, Sor? What was in that cup?!” He didn’t recognize his voice as he dragged the man to his feet, shaking him. “Tell me what was in that cup!” The man laughed, though he was obviously in pain, and Caspian shook him again, not caring that the entire kingdom was watching. “What did you use to poison my wife!”

“Hemlock, you traitor. Hemlock and nightshade mixed with a sweet wine.” Oh no. He heard you gasp behind him, and Caspian immediately let go of Sor’s shirt, pushing him back into the waiting arms of the guards.

“The dungeons. Lock him up.” Without another thought to the man, Caspian turned back to you, heart thudding. “I need to know,” he started, his voice shaky. “Did you swallow anything?” You didn’t answer right away, and Caspian watched as your hands shook, eyes going to the ground where the cup had fallen, landing only inches from your bloodied dagger. “Please.” He took your hands in his, saying your name, and finally you looked up at him, eyes wide.

“I don’t… I didn’t swallow anything, Caspian, but…” He watched your lip tremble. “I think it… I think it touched my…” You were interrupted as the doctor pushed through the gathered crowd.

“Your Majesties.” The doctor spoke quietly, laying one hand on your arm and the other on Caspian’s. “We need to get you back into Cair Paravel, as quickly as possible.” Without pause, Caspian stepped forward, picking you up with one arm around your lower back and the other beneath your knees. Your arms went around his neck as he held you close, your face buried against the material of his jacket - but it wasn’t until you’d cleared the majority of the crowd that you began to cry, sobs racking your body as you clung to him tightly.

---

The doctor had taken you to the palace infirmary, Caspian carrying you the entire way - unwilling to put you down even when his arms began to ache. As the man busied himself gathering supplies, you pushed away from him and sat on one of the beds, hands clasped in your lap. The room was silent aside from the opening and closing of cupboard doors and the muttering of the doctor as he searched for supplies. Lucy’s healing cordial would be perfect right now. Caspian’s head was filled with bitter thoughts as he stood in front of you, but most of all he was heartbroken at the thought of losing you from something as simple as the touch of a liquid to your lips, something that could have easily been avoided. “Caspian?” You spoke quietly and he sank to his knees in front of you immediately, reaching for your hands. “Caspian, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” He shook his head. “What do you have to be sorry for?” His brow furrowed, Caspian moved closer, shaking his head harder. “You didn’t -”

“I didn’t think Caspian. I let myself forget, and I took the -”

“Stop. You shouldn’t have had to… If I’d…” He closed his eyes, unwilling to cry in front of you. Not yet. “You’re going to be fine, you didn’t swallow -”

“Your Majesties.” The doctor was back, holding a dampened cloth in his hands. “The effects of Nightshade and Hemlock by themselves are… often irreversible, but together?” The man sighed. “I won’t lie to you, if the Queen swallowed -”

“I didn’t.” You spoke again, your voice stronger than it had been as Caspian moved from the floor to the bed beside you. “I know that for sure, but I feel like…” You closed your eyes. “It reached my lips, and…” You took a deep breath. “I’m the library custodian, I know what that means, I…” You swallowed. “I may only have hours until…” No.

“Your Majesty, time is truly of the essence.” He held the cloth out and you took it from him. “Press your lips together and clean the area around your mouth with this, and then when that’s done, you’ll need to... “ The doctor paused. “You’ll need to put it between your lips and leave it there for a few minutes. It’s not going to be pleasant, but…” You acted without waiting for him to finish, shuddering as you got a whiff of whatever was on the cloth as you swiped it over your skin and then gagging as you closed your lips around it. “You’ll feel the area going numb, but I promise you, that’s not due to what you almost drank, your Majesty.” The doctor reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing. “This is to draw the poison from you if possible, there are ingredients in what you’ve got right now that can sometimes counteract…” The doctor fell silent and the three of you waited as the doctor stared at his pocket watch, Caspian’s hands clasped tightly with yours. His mind raced with possibility - if you died, he’d go straight to the dungeon and kill Sor with his bare hands. If she lives, I might still… “Time’s up.” The doctor pulled the cloth from your mouth and you coughed as it was removed.

“I’m so thirsty.” He looked at you, noticing that your lips were swollen and red. “Can I?” Standing directly in front of the two of you, the doctor placed his hands on his hips and sighed.

“No. I’m sorry.” He took a breath. “The first few hours are crucial. You’ll feel the numbness from the treatment dissipate within a few minutes, but the risk of drinking anything…” You nodded sadly. “As long as you haven’t started hallucinating or having trouble breathing by sunup, you will be fine, your Majesty.” Caspian heard you suck in a surprised breath. “There’s a chance, of course, that I am wrong, but... “ He too knelt down, reaching out to take your hand. “All we can do is wait, I’ve done everything that I can.”

“Thank you.” You offered a weak smile at the doctor and Caspian felt himself freeze. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.” Caspian watched as you squeezed the man’s hand. “If it’s not too much to ask, can we have some…” The doctor stood and bowed at the waist, letting you know that if he was needed, he’d be on the other side of the door, and then the two of you were left alone, the silence deafening, Caspian’s entire body feeling numb. “Caspian?” You met his eyes and he saw that you were trying to hold it together. “Will you help me get this dress off, please?” He moved quickly, pulling you to your feet and unlacing the front of your dress, fingers shaking as he untied the strings. His hands moving to your shoulders, he squeezed them before turning you gently around, undoing the buttons on the back of your dress - so much like he had the first night he’d ever touched you, the dress falling to your waist and then to the floor, revealing a shift beneath it. “Thank you, my King.”

He heard the tears in your voice and blinked back his own as he lowered his head, pressing his lips to the bare skin of one shoulder and then the other, fingers gathering your hair to lift it and expose more of you to him. But you didn’t let him linger as you turned, giving him a small smile as you reached forward, pushing the jacket off of his shoulders and waiting until he’d shrugged it off before moving to help him remove his vest. Neither of you spoke, but he knew what you were thinking - that it could be the last time you touched each other, the last time… “You’re going to live.” Caspian’s voice was strong, even as he helped you into the narrow hospital bed, his arms going around you as you leaned back against him, the weight comforting. “Aslan wouldn’t have brought you to me only to take you so quickly.”

You laughed - quietly - but it was still something, and Caspian held you tightly, taking a deep breath. She will live. She has to live.

---

Though he’d fought it with every breath in his body, Caspian had fallen asleep at some point throughout the night, and when he woke the next morning, you were gone from the bed, though the sunlight was streaming in through the large windows. He called your name, frowning at the raspy sound of his own voice, and pushed out of the bed. I guess that’s what happens when you talk for hours. Caspian glanced around the room, looking for you, and saw that your dress was still crumpled on the floor where he’d left it, his vest next to it. Where’s my jacket? Without worrying about shoes, Caspian walked quickly across the room, rapping his knuckles on the door that separated the doctor’s room from the main infirmary, anxious. Where is my wife?

His question was answered when the door opened, revealing you standing on the other side of it, wearing his jacket. “Good morning, my King.” Your voice was as raw as his, and rather than respond, Caspian took you into his arms, hugging you tightly and sobbing audibly at the feeling of your hands on his back, fingers digging into his skin. “Caspian.” Though he didn’t want to, he pushed you away, staring at you.

“What?” He wet his lips, shaking his head. “Why did you leave the room, what…” He noticed for the first time that your eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them, your skin pale. “Did you sleep?” You shook your head no, glancing over your shoulder before you stepped back into the main room, pulling the door shut behind you.

“I didn’t sleep, Caspian. I didn’t want to close my eyes because I was afraid…” She was afraid she wouldn’t wake up. “You fell asleep, and I couldn’t… I just wanted to be with you. I had so much to tell you, but I thought…” You smiled. “I thought if things got bad, I could sneak out and then you wouldn’t… have you watch, and…” You touched his cheek and he turned his head toward your hand, kissing the heel of it before moving his lips to your palm. “I counted down the minutes until the sun came up, and when I heard the door creak open, the doctor invited me into his office so that we didn’t disturb you.”

“You should have…” Caspian’s eyes narrowed, but he wasn’t angry. “You let me sleep, and I…”

“I’m going to be fine, Caspian.” You took a deep breath. “I’m a little dizzy, but the doctor said that if things were worse, we’d know by now.” You laughed again, the sound weak. “I’m exhausted, and want to sleep for a month, but… I’m going to live, Caspian. Sor failed. He played his hand, and now…” Caspian reached for you, hands going to your waist. “I almost…”

“But you didn’t.” Caspian lowered his head, pausing before his lips met yours. You nodded and he continued, lips pressing against yours in relief more than anything. She’s going to live. She wouldn’t have let me… You kissed him back, the hand on his cheek moving to his hair and when you broke apart, you sighed, licking your lips. “Are you alright?” You groaned, nodding. “Good.” He kissed you again, wanting to never let you go, but he knew that he had to.

“Caspian?” He hummed, raising an eyebrow. “Next year, can we just…” You closed your eyes. “Can we just do the festival in the square?” He couldn’t help it - Caspian laughed, hands sliding from your waist to encircle you, pulling you to his chest as he rocked back and forth slowly, your hands on his shoulders. “I’m serious.” You pushed him away, pausing. “Nothing can top this year, so…” In disbelief, he searched for your face, but when he reached your eyes - though they weren’t as bright as they usually were, he saw you in them, even with the fatigue. “Take me to bed, Caspian. I need to sleep.” He nodded, making a mental note to return to the infirmary later that day and thank the doctor profusely and leading you to the main door, his arm around your waist. “Wait, Caspian.” You stopped, frowning. “What… what’s going to happen to Sor?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t try to hide the malice in his voice. “I know what I’d like to do to him, but…” He shrugged. “Maybe when you stabbed him, you…” Killed him, I hope. But he knew that wasn’t the case, that you likely hadn’t even hurt him too badly, otherwise someone would have brought the man to the infirmary for treatment. Maybe I’ll stab him myself.

“Caspian,” You cleared your throat. “Let me sleep for a few hours, and then we can…” You took a breath and straightened up, managing to look regal even through your exhaustion. “We’ll show the people that I’m going to be fine, and then… we can deal with Sor. Together.” Unable to deny you, Caspian nodded, opening the door and stepping into the hall, the two of you slowly making your way toward your quarters. He locked the door behind him, before helping you undress - this time completely, following suit himself. The two of you climbed into bed, Caspian pulling the blankets up and around your bodies as you settled in against his bare chest. Within minutes, you were asleep, the even sound of your breaths soothing his frayed nerves - but this time, it was Caspian that stayed awake, his relief that you were going to be fine overshadowed by the growing feeling of anger within his chest as he thought of the man who was - hopefully - still bleeding somewhere deep in the dungeons of Cair Paravel.

---

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myaekingheart · 4 years ago

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120. A Map to Matrimony, Like Constellations in the Night Sky

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

Arai smirked as she leaned against the wall of lockers, watching as Rei changed out of her uniform. There was something almost predatory in her gaze, making Rei hyperaware of her body. The pearl inlay of her engagement ring glinted in the flickering lights overhead.

“Hey, boss, you know” Arai started, leaning over for a better look. “That’s some pretty flashy bling you’ve got there.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively, nodding towards Rei’s left hand.

Frowning, Rei drew her hand up to her chest and muttered, “Yeah, and if you so much as think of stealing it, I’ll match it with a necklace made of your teeth.”

With a chuckle, Arai raised her hands in surrender. “Oh god, absolutely not!” she assured, almost even disgusted at the insinuation. “I mean, it’s pretty, yeah, but not my style at all.” Despite the initial suspicion, deep down Rei knew that Arai had to be genuine. Nothing about her seemed to align with the dainty and delicate nature of the engagement ring. Rather, Arai seemed like the type for something far more inconspicuous. Something steely and simple and durable. “So who’s the lucky guy, anyway? Maybe I know him” Arai jested. Little did she know, everyone knew him.

Tugging her dress over her head, Rei flippantly replied, “Kakashi Hatake.” He had become so ordinary to her now that sometimes she forgot just how extraordinary he truly was. The moment his name fell from her lips, Arai’s entire demeanor shifted. Her violet eyes widened and her mouth gaped; if Rei listened closely, she could hear the dial-up signal screeching in her head. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies that way” Rei muttered under her breath. She hoped to somehow lessen the tension forming between them. To erase the strange shock that she had caused.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Arai replied sarcastically. “I was just trying to figure out how you of all people landed a stud like Kakashi fucking Hatake.”

Just then, Mikazuki poked her head around the corner and interjected, “They have history!”

Rei cursed under her breath and shot Mikazuki a fierce glare but she didn’t seem to comprehend her impending wrath. Funny how her dojutsu could pick apart little technicalities and yet Mikazuki was still so dense to common social cues. Arai skirted around Rei, arms crossed and a sly smile on her face. “Ooh, a history” she mused. “Tell me more! What kind of history are we talking here? What story could you possibly have with the renowned Kakashi of the Secondhand Sharingan?”

“it’s really not a big deal” Rei muttered. There was no way in hell that she was going to delve into the complicated particulars of her romantic record right now. She had had a long day, she was sore and tired. The ANBU locker roms were a cesspool of gossip—one which she preferred not to contribute to. Besides, Rei still did not fully trust Arai anyway. True, they were on far better terms than before but Rei could not afford to be vulnerable with her yet again. Information was a dangerous asset. The less Arai knew, the better.

A soft smile touched Mikazuki’s lips as she, too, admired the ring from afar. “So have you guys set a date yet?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, are you aiming for a winter wedding or a summer one?” Arai asked. “You should, at the very least, do a fall wedding. Those are always the prettiest.”

“Really?” Mikazuki asked. “I always thought spring weddings were the best, with the cherry blossoms in full bloom. It’s like getting married on a cloud of cotton candy” Mikazuki sighed dreamily as she fell back against the wall of lockers, clutching her hands to her chest like a lovelorn school girl.

Arai scoffed and shook her head. “Damn, you’re sappy” she replied. “So what about a dress? Have you picked one yet? I heard you don’t want to wait too long or else you won’t have time for alterations, but if you do it too early you’ll blow up like a balloon by the time the wedding rolls around—you know, from the stress eating—and then it won’t even fit.”

“Oh, speaking of food! What are you doing for catering?” Mikazuki asked. “Buffets are always nice, but those can get expensive.”

“God, no” Arai scrunched her face in disgust. “A sit-down dinner is the only appropriate option for a wedding. Buffets are way too casual. Do you really want your wedding dinner at the fucking Shinobi Corral?”

Ignoring Arai’s comments, Mikazuki then asked, “What about the cake?”

“Place settings?” offered Arai.

“Bridal party?”

“China patterns?”

“Flowers?”

“Music?”

“Prenups?”

“Oh my god, stop!” Rei shouted and the entire locker room fell silent. There was so much to consider, and she was not at all in the proper mindset for any of it. She had only just come to terms with her promotion. Her feelings toward her subordinates were still only lukewarm at best. She refused to think about the abandoned parenthood pursuit. If she didn’t slow her roll and take one thing at a time, she was going to lose her mind.

But still, they were (unfortunately) valid questions. The wedding needed to be planned and it was only natural for people to wonder. If only they weren’t so overbearing in their curiosity. If Rei was going to do this, and do it right, then she needed to take her time.

As she made her way home, however, all chances of a relaxing evening were dashed. Mikazuki and Arai’s obsessive inquiries had planted in her brain an overwhelming mania about the wedding. Three weeks had passed since submitting their marriage license applications but in the meantime, they had done little else as far as planning went. Logically, Rei understood much of the past month was occupied by her promotion but still. The pressure to get everything sorted immediately was eating her alive.

Kakashi had returned home shortly before Rei did, shuffling out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He shook the excess water from his hair as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I beat you home” he grinned proudly.

Rei stalled for only a moment staring at his wet, toned chest and the way his towel sat low on his waist, teasing her. But now was not the time to get aroused. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she surged forward and took Kakashi’s hand in hers. “We need to talk” she said, guiding him toward the kitchen table.

Chuckling, Kakashi asked, “Can I get dressed first?” Then, with a sly smile, he asked, “Or is this the sort of conversation that I need to keep my clothes off for?” Her sharp glare gave him his answer. Defeated, he carefully sat down and gave her his full attention. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“No, Kakashi” Rei replied. “Everything is not okay. We have a big problem.”

Kakashi’s face immediately fell. “Am I in trouble?” he asked. His mind sifted through the past few weeks, trying to pinpoint moments where he may have misstepped. He came up empty every time.

Shaking her head, Rei replied, “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s about us.”

Kakashi instinctively reached across the table to take her hand in his. His mind automatically leapt to their pregnancy plans. Had something happened? What if she had gone to the doctor only to discover that something was wrong and she couldn’t have kids at all? Or perhaps they had miscalculated and she was pregnant after all? He swallowed back the lump in his throat, asked, “What’s the matter?”

And then Rei said it and a wave of relief washed over Kakashi. “It’s about the wedding planning.”

“Oh, thank god” Kakashi sighed, leaning back in his chair. Rei shot him yet another glare and he raised his hands in surrender. “I just expected much worse!”

Shaking her head, Rei folded her hands on the table in front of her like a businesswoman about to make a deal. “We’ve been engaged for almost two months now and have hardly made any progress” she said. “People are beginning to ask questions and I can’t stand to sit there without answers anymore!”

“Well, we did submit our marriage license application” Kakashi reminded her. “That’s one thing.” And really, they couldn’t do much else until they received the verdict on that. Without that stamp of approval, there couldn’t be a wedding to begin with. At least not legally.

Rei gripped her hair and groaned. “I know, but that’s not enough!” she whined. “What about the date? The location? The guests? The food and the flowers? We can’t have our wedding dinner at the fucking Shinobi Corral! I just—”

“Whoa, wait a second. Who said anything about the Shinobi Corral?” Kakashi asked. His restrained laughter was not appreciated. When it was clear that Rei did not find any of this funny, however, he reached back across the table for her hand yet again. “Rei, look at me” he said, voice soft and tender. “I want our wedding to be perfect for you so whatever you want, we’ll do it. Okay?”

Rei blinked as she looked at his comforting, unmasked face. He was so sweet but god, he was so, so stupid. “Kakashi, you know I love you” she replied, “but you’re a fucking idiot.” Kakashi recoiled as he tried to figure out where he had gone wrong. Fortunately, Rei spelled it out for him. “I can’t do this all on my own. I want you to have a part in this because it’s your wedding, too. We need to make these decisions together. I want your help. I need your help.”

Nodding slowly, Kakashi said, “Okay. Well then let’s take it one step at a time.” He reached across their cramped kitchen to pull a notepad and pen from the counter. “Let’s start with the guests. Who do you want to invite?”

“I don’t know. My family, I guess?” Rei replied. She drew her knees up to her chest as she filtered through her mental address book. “We’ll have to go through the details later, there’s too many people to really count right now. And it’s hard to say how many people we can even invite if we don’t have a location in mind since we don’t know the capacity.”

“Alright” Kakashi said as he finished scribbling a simple family and friends. “Did you have anything in mind for the location?”

Rei shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Well close your eyes and imagine it then” Kakashi suggested. “What kind of wedding do you see?”

Rei did as she was told but it was no use. “Kakashi, I can’t see anything” she complained.

“For an avid reader, your imagery skills need some work” Kakashi jested.

As Rei opened her eyes, she pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. “You think you’re real funny, don’t you, Kakashi?” she muttered. Kakashi merely smiled a dumb, childlike little smile—far too proud for his own good. Rei buried her face in her hands. “God, you sound just like everyone else asking me all these questions that I can’t fucking answer.”

He hated how cute she was when she was frustrated. He tossed the pen and pad aside and rose to his feet, skirting around to rub her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. “But this time you don’t need to have all of the answers, Rei” he reassured her. “We’re just thinking out loud. Nothing is set in stone. You’re allowed to take your time and decide what you want. I really don’t care as long as you’re happy.”

Squinting, Rei tilted her head back against his chest so as to look up at him and mumble, “That doesn’t sound very budget-friendly, Kakashi.”

Kakashi shrugged and smiled. “It’s not like we can’t afford it” he said. “We both make plenty of money, right Mrs. ANBU captain?” He smirked and kissed the tip of her nose before turning to head back into the bedroom. Rei twisted around in the kitchen chair, straddling it backwards as she watched Kakashi shed his towel and begin rooting around his drawers for clean underwear. Her cheeks burned as she eyed his dick, tilting her head to get a better view of it.

“Maybe we should just elope” she commented, resting her head on the back of the chair.

“Is that really what you want?” Kakashi asked, stepping into a fresh pair of boxer briefs.

“I don’t know” Rei whined. “I’m just starting to feel like this is more work than it’s worth. I’m stressed. Eloping would solve all of our problems.”

“In wedding planning, maybe” Kakashi replied. “But it would create a whole army of new ones.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Rei asked.

“Well, for one thing” Kakashi replied, tugging his shirt over his head, “I don’t think your parents would be very happy when they find out we’ve run away together.”

Rei swatted at the air dismissively. “Fuck them” she said. “They’ll just cause more drama, anyway.”

“Even your grandmother?” Kakashi asked, cocking a brow.

Rei paused a moment, reconsidering. Then, finally, “Alright, fine, only Grandma Teiko is allowed to come to the wedding. No one else.” At this, Toshio huffed and nudged Rei’s knee with his wet nose. Chuckling, Rei shook her head and scratched behind his ear, adding, “And of course Toshio can come, too. He can be a bridesmaid.”

“Are you going to make him wear a dress?” Kakashi jested.

“Only if he wants to” Rei replied. The look on the dog’s face, however, proved that he definitely did not want to.

Ruffling his hair, Kakashi made his way back into the kitchen. He knelt down in front of Rei and brushed the long bangs back out of her face. “Honestly, though, I think we deserve a real wedding, don’t you?”

“Yeah” Rei sighed, resting her forehead against his. “I guess so. But god, I wish weddings didn’t have to be so damn stressful. I feel so much pressure to have everything sorted as soon as possible, like I should be some sort of all-knowing bridal goddess or some shit.”

“I know” Kakashi laughed, petting her head affectionately. “Just try not to worry. We’re allowed to take our time. It’s not like we have a deadline to meet or anything.”

“God, but that’s exactly the problem, Kakashi!” Rei whined. “Having everything so open-ended doesn’t make me feel much better, either. If anything, it just makes me feel aimless. It’s like I don’t have a clear goal in mind without a set date, you know?”

Kakashi pursed his lips, considering her words. She did have a valid point. The wedding date was essentially the anchor that tethered everything else in place. Without it, all their other plans were merely disconnected ideas floating in mid-air. “Alright” Kakashi replied, nodding with purpose. “Then how about March 14th?”

“March 14th?” Rei repeated.

“Mmhmm” Kakashi affirmed. “The same date I proposed to you, so it would be easy to remember. The weather would be mild, and I think it falls on a weekend. It would be perfect. After all, it is called White Day for a reason.”

A wedding on White Day. Rei considered the possibility. She thought back to what Mikazuki had said earlier about spring weddings and the cherry blossoms. The soft, ethereal aesthetic was definitely alluring. And plus, it was a day with meaning. The anniversary of their engagement and a holiday founded on the reciprocation of love. How Kakashi had thought of something so perfect was beyond her but then again, it seemed that he was always coming up with perfect ideas. Her eyes skated to the copy of Icha Icha haphazardly tossed on the coffee table and that gave her explanation enough for his romantic powers.

And from a more logical perspective, March was a little less than a year away which gave them plenty of time to figure out the rest. Rei felt far more confident in her ability to plan a wedding in ten months, with a definite end goal in mind. A small smile began to spread across her lips as she thought about it all, suddenly far less stressed than she was before. Now when she closed her eyes, a hazy image began to form in her mind, still not clear enough to feel fully confident in her plans but better than nothing. Her vision was beginning to take root.

Rei nodded as she looked Kakashi in the eyes and replied, “March 14th. I like that.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard” Kakashi grinned. “Now we have one less thing to worry about. Do you feel better?”

Nodding, Rei replied, “A little bit, yeah. It’s nice to know where the finish line stands. To have an anchor, you know? Something to build up from.”

Kakashi nodded and kissed her forehead sweetly before replying “Now to figure out everything else.”

Rei grimaced, but not unkindly, as she twisted around to whack Kakashi lightly on the shoulder with the notepad. “Watch yourself, Hatake” she jested. A sly, teasing smile touched her lips. “One thing at a time.”

#rei natsuki #kakashi hatake #kakashi x oc #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

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edmund-valks · 4 years ago

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A Practical Examination

"Just… right here then?" She waited for the elderly woman's nod before driving the thin metal spike in. The body they were working with seized up for the smallest moment before relaxing again. Its eyes remained open, occasionally twitching to focus on details no one else could see, but there were none of the normal signs of pain.

Aurelaine patted her arm. "Very good, dear. I prefer to work this way when possible. They've volunteered themselves to become a part of the Great Work; that devotion is far more powerful than the suffering we could wring from them." She pointed to the fresh wound, moved her finger in a slow arc to the opposite side of the prone elf's head. "You can technically go through either side for the same effect, but I've found that establishing a specific pattern strengthens the rite. Remember, we control nothing but the shape of the channel. Build it properly and the flow of power will do what you've planned."

Ilandreline nodded, making several notes in her book. "Right. Failure to provide a sufficiently robust channel will result in something like trying to force an entire ocean through a coolant line -- the weakest parts will give, with predictably messy results."

Her grandmother chuckled, expressing agreement with another pat. "I told you you're better suited to this than you'd thought. You know how to build, how to establish equilibria. The only real difference is we're not using machines here." The praise was enough to make the engineer flush pink to the tips of her ears. "Now! Draw it out for me. We've got our willing supplicant here beyond the ability to feel pain. What's our next step?"

"Let's see…" Ilandreline consulted her notes, chewing the end of her pencil. "The circle is drawn, of course, we've already prepared the offering, which means now we have to… oh! The calling and opening!"

A nod. "Do it. What are you looking at me for? This one is yours, Lina. Show me what you've learned."

The younger elf reviewed the setup so far, making sure she had the right details. Willing offering was this set of rites, the protective circle they'd created would be effective against those emissaries, she had these materials on-hand… All that taken into account, there were still several possibilities even before she considered rebalancing the energies. Worry about that later, she reminded herself. Start simple, get practiced. Build the foundation before the house.

She retrieved an obsidian blade from the nearby tool bench then positioned herself at the offering's right elbow. Strange, thinking of him like that; she'd played games with him long ago, back before he'd found the rich vein of faithfulness within himself. He'd simply quit other pursuits one day a few decades back, taking up a sort of hermit's lifestyle, spending most of his days mentally exploring the places you could get with the right kind of specially treated fruits and mushrooms. She hadn't understood back then, wasn't honestly sure she did now, but that didn't matter. The important thing was she was going to help him get where he wanted to be, and he was going to do the same for her.

She started etching the ritual on the wrist closest to her. It was a point of vitality, she'd learned, like the heart but different. A small complex of delicate runework, one that would provide fuel and focus. That was why they used obsidian, despite it being relatively difficult to acquire; nothing else made such perfect, easy lines on flesh. The work took minutes, eventually climbing half up the forearm. Ilandreline double-checked her work before moving on. A mistake could be salvaged if you knew about it. Satisfied, she moved to the next limb.

By the time she'd finished, her eyes ached from focusing and she'd dulled a handful of blades. It was done, though, and pretty decently if she was any judge. Things had only gotten awkward when she'd been working the offering's face and he'd started talking to her. Turns out he was more aware than she'd realized. He also remembered her and wanted to discuss her faith. Not the most comfortable conversation when one was carving sigils into a forehead, especially when she was still trying to understand what she believed these days. Her answers had been enough, apparently, as he'd eventually subsided again with a sort of pleased sigh.

"I… think we're ready, Eldest." Ila looked at the blood on her hands, frowning. It had gotten under her nails and was starting to dry. She'd have to trim them to get it all out.

"You think or we are? Which is it, girl?" Aurelaine's tone was harsh. Of course it was; she despised the uncertain and those who lacked confidence.

"We are." Her voice didn't waver this time. She'd gone over all her work twice as she'd done it, a third time after finishing the whole. Everything was in order. "With your permission, Eldest, I will begin tonight's Calling."

"You have it." Just enough of a pause for Ila to start moving before she added, "Remember, you will pay for your mistakes. I'm here to watch over our family, not to save you."

Real confidence builder. Then again, that was probably the point. Granny Laine knew what she was doing. "Thank you, Eldest."

Ilandreline took her place at the center of the small circle, careful to avoid disrupting any of the delicate symbols she'd laid in silver. She lit the candles and waited. Minutes later, as the moon slipped below the horizon, she began to extinguish the flames. Four drops of blood per candle, as always, accompanied by the invocation. "Four for four," she recited, "given by one. Less than five, but greater by far. After life, beyond death, the Long Night comes. We kill to serve. We bleed to live. Through our sacrifice, the light shall die at last."

The darkness that settled over them was more than night. Anyone else would have found it oppressive, smothering perhaps, but a Glimmerbow's eyes saw the truth. This was the deep expanse of infinity, a churning space where Titanic order had been unable to find a foothold. Here was the counterforce that allowed life to exist beyond programmed parameters, that which created consciousness and free will. She shivered, not from fear but awe.

You call out. We hear. Speak.

The speech was in their minds, she knew. You didn't hear it, couldn't hear it. Instead it resonated through your being, rippling through muscle and bone, darkening your body with reflected splendour. Ilandreline had to take several breaths before she could focus properly. "Tonight we offer one of ours to the Great and Endless Dark. A cousin in blood and service." She crossed from the calling circle into the one for offering, drawing her knife.

This voice means nothing. Is nothing. Shall receive nothing. Shall become nothing.

Four times they said the word, each time impacting her more viciously. The last was meant to force her to her knees, but Ila refused. Her grandmother was watching, after all, and her punishment would be worse than whatever cruelties the Dark could inflict at this distance. "I am Ilandreline, daughter of Mellura'thel, daughter of Aurelaine. I speak in the Eldest's stead this night. We are bound to the Endless Night and so is it bound to us."

Prove.

She bent down, placed her lips against the offering's forehead, living breath freshening the bloody etchings thereon. "Our gift to you, this living blood, and a reminder of our bonds," she continued, sliding the ancient blade into flesh at the little notch in the collarbone. "Our sacrifice is your gain, your whispers our knowledge."

Put to its true purpose, the knife felt alive in her grip. With steady hand, Ila drew down, away from the neck, expecting resistance. Instead the bones parted smoothly, clavicle and sternum offering no more resistance than skin had to obsidian. "All in service to the last fading of the light." She withdrew the blade, placing it reverently aside.

The runes in her cousin's flesh began to glow. First with the brilliance of blood, then darkening through the midnight violet of the family's eyes into a blackness that melded with what surrounded the rite. He was still alive, of course; that was what it meant to be an offering. Dead meat meant little. She wondered what it felt like, to have your chest opened like that, to be offered to the Whispering Dark at your own insistence. Judging by the rapturous expression on his face, it was significantly less painful than she'd expected. He's getting what he's always wanted. The thought made her smile. It felt so good to bring someone that kind of happiness.

This voice is known. We welcome it. Give and become known.

The Whispers seemed in no hurry. The offering was beginning to blur at his extremities, the writings she'd placed there in the Dark's own language flickering in and out of sight as they anchored the ritual transferrence. She waited until most of him was no longer distinguishable from their surroundings before picking up her grandmother's old blade again.

Once more she positioned herself by the body's head, but this time the tip of the knife rested against the runic focal point. "A single light," she intoned, "flickering weakly. This life -- the last remnant of a dying sun. This body -- full of terrible promise and beguiling lies. A so-called gift, this tyranny of ill-advised order."

She inhaled deeply, exhaled. "Never meant to withstand the endless dark, we give it freely." The blade drove through skull, brain, skull again, until she could feel its point pressing into the altar's pitted stone.

We accept. You are known.

Shuddering with exultation, Ilandreline withdrew the knife, resheathing it without wiping away any of the blood. She would not deprive it of such precious seasoning. As the comforting weight of the Endless Night began to lift, she turned to see her grandmother's proud smile. That would have been enough all on its own. Returning a grin of her own, she took two steps before falling into an entirely other darkness.

#wow rp #rp #warcraft rp #ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre

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defectivenancydrew · 5 years ago

Text

MID Review (finally)

Now that I’ve had a while to reflect on MID, I feel like I can give an honest, spoiler-free review. This turned out to be a much more in-depth review than I had planned on doing, but you can just read the italics at the end of each section if you just want the gist.

Controls: Okay, so for like the first fifteen minutes (or however long it takes you to adjust), the controls are frustrating. Once you get used to how to move (and it is still point-and-click), you’ll be fine. The only thing that I still didn’t have a solid grasp of by the end of the game was moving Nancy’s head around with the right mouse button--it might have helped to slow the mouse down for this function. That being said, the controls offer a lot to the game. The environments and navigation feel more realistic, and instead of jumping from scene to scene, Nancy slides through the space. It’s weird at first, but it’s ultimately superior. (Just for kicks, I went back and played a bit of LIE as a comparison, and the jumpy movement felt so weird after the smoothness of MID). Controls get a 8/10 for the steep learning curve and the more realistic movement.

Graphics: They’re not that bad, okay? On high render, the environments actually look really good and the characters are decent (low render is an understandably different story). Given the technical reasons behind the graphics looking as the do (full 3D render here versus painstakingly painted video files before), I don’t think that they’re really that bad. Puzzle renders and zoomed-in items/POIs really shine, appearing arguably better than previous games. It’s also important to consider what SCK/STFD look like compared to SEA--MID obviously looks better than SCK/STFD, but it has room for improvement. Just like the development team refined the graphics on their proprietary engine, they will refine the graphics on Unity over time. Again, looking back to the first three games, there is a huge jump in graphics quality between each game, indicating their ability to improve quickly. I’m willing to best that the next game (yes, I believe there will be a ‘next game’) will look much better than MID, and so on from there. Character renders are not as great, but this, too, is likely to improve and is probably also due to the fact that it’s 3D and not a painted video file. Their movements may be awkward, but the fact that they are mo-cap means that they may improve in future games. The only real gripe I have about the characters is the lack of facial expressions. Graphics get a 7/10 for up-close realism and room for improvement.

Performance: If you have a gaming PC or a relatively new device, you should be golden. The game runs smoothly at high render on my 2018/i7/SSD PC, but has some lagging issues at high render on my 2014/i5/HDD PC (issues that all but disappear by adjusting to low render). For those with older PCs or PCs with less processing-power, you may have to deal with way-off lip-syncs and choppy cut scenes if you also want to see the best possible graphics. The game only crashed once on my older PC (and it was more likely due to unrelated background processes I was running), but the autosave feature prevents crashes from being anything more than a brief annoyance. Performance gets a 6/10 for high requirements and the Sophie’s Choice of graphics or speed.

UI: I love the sleek, full-screen appearance and minimalist inventory/phone bar. If I had to ask for any improvements here, I might suggest that the inventory collapse into a bag icon when it’s not in use. UI gets 10/10 for maximizing space and minimizing distractions.

Environment (independent of graphics): HeR definitely stepped up their game (heh) on this front. While there are arguably no more locations to explore than in SEA, the environment is far more expansive and cohesive. You feel like you are in a small town (Salem), and you have the freedom to explore all the relevant places without jumping around or magically transporting. There’s only one location that is distant from the town center, and Nancy travels via car to get back and forth, which adds a dose of realism. We have our usual forest navigation (though it is mercifully straight-forward, unlike DOG or CAP), with the added bonus of looking around and using it to get from one place to another. The game makes good use of each space, though it’d be nice if there was more to do in certain lesser-used locations. Some of the locations really only seemed to be present to flesh out the whole environment--which is fine--but it’d be nice to utilize those locations a bit more. And when graphics are set high, the environments are quite stunning. The lighting and weather also do a good job of reinforcing the current atmosphere in-game. Environment gets a 9/10 for cohesion and light usage.

Characters (independent of graphics, story): This is probably one of the spots where MID won me over. Not only do we have eleven (11!) official characters, we have background characters that make the setting real! I didn’t count, but there were probably 10+ background characters that were present for minor commentary and realistic liveliness. For the first time in a Nancy Drew game, I wasn’t questioning where the rest of the world was. Yes, their movements were awkward and if your computer couldn’t handle the graphics, then their lips were flapping in mysterious ways, but they moved around and interacted with each other in semi-human ways. It is absolutely baffling to me that there are people who think there were too many characters. For one thing, we as fans asked HeR for more characters and that’s what they gave us. For another, the game never felt crowded. There were seven characters that were considered “main” that you interacted with often, three side characters that you interacted with occasionally, and one character that you only interacted with once. If they hadn’t been fully-formed characters with solid backstories, I might be persuaded that the number was an issue, but almost all of the characters were fully- or mostly-developed. Characters gets a 10/10 for quantity and quality.

Puzzles: This is probably the one facet of the game where it is most clear that HeR listened to fans’ requests. We asked for more realistic puzzles that were integrated into the game play and not totally irrelevant. That’s what we got. For some people, I think this made it seem like there were fewer puzzles, but I think there were just as many as before, it just wasn’t always super obvious that you were solving a puzzle (and they all but eliminated chore-type puzzles). The cooking mini game and serving mini game were both fun, nostalgic time-wasters in the best of ways. Another nice thing about the puzzles was that they weren’t super difficult as long as you were paying attention, so there wasn’t any need to google solutions or get frustrated. Puzzles get a 9/10 for fan service and perception (after all, perception is reality).

Story: MID really shines when it comes to the story line. The game delves into the full history of Salem, rightfully choosing to discuss topics that were always skirted in earlier games (prejudice, discrimination, slavery, torture, etc.). My only issue regarding the presentation of history is that a lot of the learning is optional, and can be easily ignored or missed. The actual story line of the game is well-established and doesn’t have any gaping plot holes (at least that I noticed on my first play through). There are multiple crimes to solve, multiple items to recover, and thus multiple endings/outcomes to achieve. I can’t go into too much more detail without spoiling parts of the game, but suffice it to say that the story has depth and gravity that might even place it ahead of previous games. Story gets a 10/10 for more mature themes and multiple, successfully interweaving story lines.

Dialogue: While the content of the dialogue is great and forms the foundation for much of the story, it loses me in presentation. First, the line-by-line captioning system is awkward at best, and a monologue behind at worst. I see no reason not to present the player with sentences or paragraphs at a time as before. Second, dialogue options are not so much options as dialogue tasks. You have questions you can ask, but there is no choice of how to ask them or how to respond to an answer. For the most part, you are just choosing the order in which to ask things. This, in my opinion, is a step backward from the previous games, where Nancy could be optimistic, pessimistic, direct, or passive-aggressive. Lastly, there is a strange lack of subject in Nancy’s sentence structure at times. She says “should do xyz” instead of “I should do xyz,” or “wanted to ask about abc” instead of “I wanted to ask you about abc.” While this isn’t really too weird in the context of modern speech patterns, it is still a little awkward. There are examples of this in previous games when Nancy speaks to herself, but never in dialogue with other characters. Again, this isn’t a big deal, but it crops up enough to make it noticeably strange. Dialogue gets a 6/10 for solid content and poor presentation.

Music: At first, the music seems to be nothing special; the main theme is quiet, unassuming, and a bit repetitive at times. But much like the rest of the game, it gets better as you progress. The music in Luminous Infusions and at the end of the game really stick out as great pieces, although the rest of the tracks are also very well-composed. There is thematic continuity between tracks and the tracks also reflect the game’s current atmosphere well. The music, while from a new composer, is still reminiscent of the old games, particularly the mystical tracks in CUR. I’m hoping HeR releases a soundtrack for MID in the future, but I do know there are no current plans for an official soundtrack (though you can find unofficial ones on YouTube pretty easily). Music gets a 10/10 for quality and cohesion.

Nancy: Nancy finally sounds like the late teen that she is meant to be! Nancy is witty and assertive, no longer speaking with the voice of a thirty-year-old and expressing the thoughts of a thirteen-year-old. The new voice actress is just what Nancy’s voice needed, in my opinion, though I have admittedly been a supporter of replacing Lani since about DED/GTH (don’t get me wrong, I love Lani and she will always be the classic voice of Nancy in my head, but I could also admit that her voice was losing its spark and pep). It takes a little while to get used to the new voice, but once it stops sounding different, it’s easy to fall in love with. Another great aspect of Nancy 2.0 is that she’s willing to get into it with other characters, even if they are in a position of authority. Nancy has always been an assertive character who stands up for what is right, even if it’s not easy to do. We see the return of this kind of Nancy in MID, and I hope we don’t lose her in future games. The only thing that I found a tad bit odd was how sugar-sweet Nancy was toward Deirdre. I like how their relationship was updated in order to model more appropriate/healthy female friendships, but it is a little weird considering the canon interaction model set forth by ASH and DED. Nancy’s other relationships have also matured and improved. Nancy gets a 10/10 for assertiveness and expressiveness.

Physical Copy: Well, almost two weeks after the release date, I finally got my physical copy of MID. This is unprecedented, as I always received physical pre-orders the day of or even the day before release. The long wait drove me to buy the digital download, which I didn’t mind doing, but this could be very frustrating for those not willing to pay for the game twice. I was disappointed to find that the disc art is just a copy of the cover art (which is minimalist at best), and not a characteristic color like the other games. The box art seems like it was put together at the last minute, not unlike the cover art. If it weren’t for my compulsive need to own all of the physical copies, I probably would have skipped it. Physical copy gets a 1/10 for slow delivery and lackluster appearance.

Weird Things to Complain About: Yes, there is one background character whose voice sounds like it was recorded on a Motorola Razr, but she says one sentence that you don’t even have to listen to. Yes, some of the background characters are overt clones, but we’ve never even had background characters to complain about before. Should there have been more to do in the Hathorne House or other one-off locations? Yeah, probably, but we were given a ton of locales to visit. The characters were always bobbing around and breathing, but--surprise!--this is something that real humans do. Did their feet/hands occasionally meld with other objects or the environment? Sure, but why were you looking at their feet during a conversation? Admittedly, Teegan sometimes looked like she was trying to scare off a bear or prepare for flight, even I can’t argue that that wasn’t odd. But for the most part, these are minor, petty issues. There weren’t gaping plot holes, there was actually a mystery to solve (looking at you, MED), and we got a lot of the things that we asked for over the years. There is always room for improvement, and this game is certainly no exception. I expect that the next game will make refinements based on our feedback and be even better. HeR completely changed the Nancy Drew game formula, but they used our input as a guide. They’ll take what we say about MID into consideration with the next game, and hopefully over time we will see the same level of improvement we saw from SCK to SEA. They started from scratch, and even though they had five years to work on it, the first time you try something new is almost always the worst. I don’t condone the way they treated us over the hiatus or how they treated their own staff, but I don’t think it’s time to abandon ship yet. If you play this game with nostalgia goggles on and a closed mind, you’re going to hate it, you’re going to ask for a refund. If you go into it with an open mind and excitement for something new, you might just find that you like MID more than you’d care to admit. Weird things to complain about gets an 8/10 for minor oddities that should be expected in a pilot endeavor.

Conclusion: Change is inevitable. If you were around when TMB came out, you might remember the absolute uproar that came with the UI change. People threatened to walk away from the series because of the new menu screen and bulkier interface. If you’ve played the original SCK and STFD, then you know how drastically the games improved over the span of a single year. And compare those games to SEA and it’s clear that the games are always improving. But you have to start (or in this case, restart) somewhere, and MID is our new starting point. The games will get better, and we’ll still find things to complain about (like we always do), because there is always room for improvement. There’s no point in lamenting about how good the game would have looked on the old engine, because that misses the point. The old engine could not deliver what we as fans desired. It could not handle more than six characters or more than eight hours (this is being generous) of game play. It couldn’t give us more expansive environments or smoother navigation. The new engine gave us all of these things, but sacrificed a bit of graphics. Big whoop. I’m willing to bet that none of us got into the games for their graphics, especially those of use who became fans early on in the games’ history. Bottom line? HeR gave us a good game. Not their best game, maybe not even one of their better games, but it’s certainly better than MED or SCKR. And hey, at least we finally got the game. Midnight in Salem gets an 80%, an admirable B-, because the effort and progress is there, but there are definitely things that they could have done better.

#nancy drew #clue crew #midnight in salem #mid #review #open to feedback #wow this was way longer than i intended it to be

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blackjack-15 · 5 years ago

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The Hand(print) of Fate — Thoughts on: Secret of the Scarlet Hand (SSH)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

Unique to this game is a section in between Suspects and Favorite Things, titled “The Hardy Boys”. The content it covers should be fairly obvious.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: SSH, SCK, mostly non-spoilery mention of TMB and DOG, National Treasure, very spoilery mention of Agatha Christie’s The ABC Murders.

The Intro:

Secret of the Scarlet Hand is the game that introduces one of Nancy’s most enduring and obvious character traits — her interest in ancient cultures. This comes up again in TMB, where Nancy once again chooses to do an internship, and once again it surrounds an ancient culture.

Given that, going forward, Nancy mostly gets “chosen” for her cases, rather than stumbling upon them and choosing to solve, the times when Nancy does make a choice are important for establishing (and re-establishing) her character.

SSH is also the game where Nancy starts being “tested”. It’s not quite as overt as some of the other games, but the culprit does call Nancy into their office at the very beginning of the game, worried that someone will steal from the Beech Hill Museum.

While we know from the tagline on the outside of the box that we’ll be catching a thief (more on that tagline below) so this isn’t a huge spoiler, it does show how the culprit is setting up Nancy to be tested — to answer their one question; can she stop them?

She can, of course, not the least of which because the culprit is obvious. However, this isn’t a negative part of the game — because for the first time, the culprit is obvious to Nancy as well as the player. Heck, everyone else in the game figures it out too — what they’re lacking is concrete evidence, not knowledge.

But this is a mystery game — this is a Nancy Drew game — so why would the devs not care that everyone knows the culprit from the very beginning?

Mostly because that’s not the main mystery in the game. Even the handprint — which should be the main mystery, because it’s on the cover and in the title, right? — is a borrowed clue, or a forged signature, if you’ll allow the pun.

The mystery isn’t who stole the Pacal carving, or who pushed (if anyone) Henrik down the temple stairs, or any other mild mystery that the game sets up. This game isn’t even technically a mystery— instead, as we’re told first thing, it’s about secrets.

This is a game about secrets, lies, and above all, the little inter-personal squabbles going on against the backdrop of a museum exhibit opening. Nancy’s puzzling out who hates who and why, who likes who and why, who each of these people really are at their core, and how this information can help her catch the culprit in the act.

This isn’t a whodunnit, or a howdunnit— it’s a howcatchem, which is fitting when your villain isn’t a murderer or mischief maker, but a smuggler. Generally, smugglers are well known to the police and other organizations; the problem lies not in identifying them, but catching them.

This is further proved by the Historical B-Plot, which once again doesn’t contain a mystery about who killed the Whisperer, but rather focuses on the relationship between the King and the Whisperer, and how secrets ultimately work to both kill (anciently) and save (in the present day).

Come to think of it, maybe this game should have been called “Secrets Can Kill”, and SCK should have been called “the one where murder is taken Lightly and Awfully and also there’s no puzzles”.

The Whisperer is an incredibly important character, not just because she also knew the value of secrets and knowledge, and was ultimately killed for it, but also because she’s one of the few examples of a theme that becomes omnipresent in the later games — she’s a shadow of Nancy. A woman who knows secrets, who is hunted and ultimately hurt by those whose secrets she knows. The game makes this comparison obvious by the end when, like the Whisperer herself, Nancy is shut inside the monolith.

Fate is the other big player in this game (though I’ll get into this later), thematically speaking. The fate of secrets, as popularized by the well-known aphorism “two can keep a secret if one of them is dead”, is to get out. The secret of the smuggling operation tries its best to get out over and over, resulting in Henrik’s fall and amnesia, Joanna’s temporary firing, Alejandro’s machinations, and, of course, ends with Nancy in the monolith.

Outside of the story, I’ll give mad props for this game being an excellent representation of an understaffed museum before a big opening. Sure, the whole thing is an ADA nightmare (all those stairs, the basement portion, etc.), but the game came out in 2002, before a lot of buildings etc. had to be ADA-compliant.

People running around, unpaid interns doing the heavy lifting, red tape everywhere — the game embraces these realities of opening a new exhibit on a shoestring staff and budget, and it’s fun to see.

I’d be remiss in not acknowledging the importance of Secret of the Scarlet Hand as the first game in what I call the “Expanded” series of Nancy Drew games, moving on from the “Classic” series that covers games 1-5. In the “Expanded” games, which runs roughly from SSH through SHA, Her Interactive pushes the envelope, relying on their now-established patterns and tropes, but also working on making the games bigger, more immersive, more detailed, and more complicated.

Here in SSH, the locations are bigger and more detailed, your list of phone contacts is longer, the amount of puzzles expands (especially compared to FIN), and the story has a bit more depth and nuance — a good option considering the game is somewhat longer than the first 5 (especially SCK and FIN).

SSH is also important because it’s the first game where the Nancy Drew Universe is really established.

We have our first mention/appearance of Prudence Rutherford, a character who appears in or is referenced in several games, establishing a canon of celebrities/socialites in the Nancy Drew Universe. There’s also Krolmeister and, perhaps most strikingly, Sonny Joon, whose escapades (and drawings) first appear here.

With the addition of these and of the Hardy Boys (much more on them later), Her Interactive shows that they’re interested in creating a universe rather than one-shot style games. This trend should hardly surprise anyone who knows that this is also the first game where Her Interactive is an independent distributor. With full creative (and distributive) license, Her became wholly free to build the kind of Universe that we know and love and associate with the Nancy Drew games — and the kind of Universe that the games needed in order to really come into their own.

The final section of this absurdly long intro is going to focus on possibly the most important thing SSH gave us: the Hardy Boys. As they’re introduced in this game (through Bess and George), the Hardy Boys are friends of Nancy who haven’t seen her for a while and show up at Bess and George’s place (or rather, one of their houses), crashing into the game with all the elegance of….well, the Hardy Boys.

This introduces the only voice actor who’s voiced their character from first appearance to present day: Rob Jones, voice of Joe Hardy. Joe’s voice is as iconic as Nancy’s herself, combining smarts with a youthful brightness and a high-energy, can do attitude. It’ll be a few games yet before Frank’s voice settles into the best-known incarnation by Jonah Von Spreecken (who debuts in Danger By Design), but the Hardy Boys’ characters are pretty well set in this game: logical, practical, and studious (though slightly anxious) Frank, and laid-back, action-oriented, and conspiracy-enthusiast Joe.

All in all, Secret of the Scarlet Hand keeps to the solid Nancy Drew formula while adding a few key new items that themselves become part of the Expanded formula.

It paves the way for the next section of Nancy Drew games and is, if you don’t have access to MHM or TRT, the single best starting point in the Nancy Drew series. Polished, engaging, and always entertaining, SSH is a fascinating and fun addition to a burgeoning series.

The Title:

The title of this game — Secret of the Scarlet Hand — is a bit of a difficult one. It begs the question what is the secret of the scarlet hand, but doesn’t do much in the way of answering it.

The game isn’t shy about showing us the titular scarlet hand; it’s displayed proudly where the Pacal carving is stolen. It’s much shyer about telling us the titular secret, building up the handprint as a Big, Symbolic Clue but never really satisfying the player’s curiosity about it.

There’s more to the handprint than that, but that’ll be covered in the section immediately below.

The other odd thing about the title is that it’s very indeterminate. In SCK, there’s a person who finds out secrets, and is killed — a rather point-blank title. STFD is an obvious pun on “stay tuned” in a television sense, and is easily understood that way. Both MHM and TRT refer to a definite noun within a location, and FIN takes us back to puns/wordplay. SSH, however, has an indefinite subject tied to another noun, and thus is far less grounded.

The indeterminate nature of the title could represent the distractions in Nancy’s way. Ostensibly, she’s just there to help the museum in its build-up to the opening of the Maya exhibit in her capacity as an intern, but that motivation gets cast aside as soon as things start going wonky — aka, beginning with the culprit’s “worry” that the museum will get robbed, and then solidified by the Pacal carving being stolen.

Along the way, Nancy is distracted by everything: taking care of the museum, solving Sonny Joon’s riddles, interrogating suspects, Henrik’s fall, provenance, Joanna’s departure, the Hardy Boys — the list goes on and on.

Perhaps the indeterminate title is to tell the players that the titular secret is supposed to stay a secret — that while Nancy works out every other secret in the game, the secret of the scarlet hand is just that — a secret.

The MysterySecret:

While there’s no real mystery at the beginning — beyond how a HS graduate from the suburbs of Chicago gets an internship with a Large museum in DC without any credentials besides “I fight crime” — there are secretsfrom the very beginning, starting with the silhouetted Nancy in the cutscene with Joanna.

HER wanted to show off what they could do, and they did it with panache, making the camera its own character rather than Nancy’s eyes, at least for a scene.

The secrets pile up, however, with the monolith in a box, Sinclair warning you about other thefts around the world, the question of if the Pacal carving/monolith are acquired legally or not, the disappearance of the carving, Sonny Joon, the smuggling ring, “Big Bunny”, Henrik’s fall…the list goes on and on.

The tagline for these games often help spell out the “big mystery” of the game. The tagline for this game is “expose buried secrets and catch a thief red-handed”, but does this actually happen?

Nancy does expose several secrets that are “buried” in some form. The mystery of the Pacal carving theft is buried in Henrik’s memories; the Whisperer is buried in the monolith; the final piece Nancy needs is buried in the painting in Sinclair’s office; the answers to the quizzes are buried in the museum. So definite props for the first half of the tagline — which pretty much spells out the first half/three-fifths of the game.

But what about “catch a thief red-handed”?

There are indeed thieves afoot, and Nancy does catch them, in all fairness. She catches the “thief” that steals the Pacal carving and the thief looking to steal the secrets of the monolith. But the phrase “red-handed” is obviously a reference to the titular “Scarlet Hand” (as well as a recognizable aphorism in English), and therein lies the trouble.

The true secret — or mystery, if you like — in this game is what the “scarlet hand” means, and to figure that out, we have to first dive into the significance of a handprint.

Handprints are usually a signature or an identifier – we fingerprint everyone from felons to teachers, and so the primary use of the word “handprint”, whether literal or figurative is to denote a signature.

The word “signature” when involved with crime, however, takes on a slightly different meaning; a “signature” here is an identifying behavior or “quirk” that a criminal has that differentiates their crimes from other criminals’. The obvious corollary that follows from a criminal’s signature and the phrase “red-handed” is the metaphor of “blood on the hands”. All of these sayings mark a specific crime performed by a specific person.

Except that’s not the case here.

When Sinclair is mentioning the other thefts that have him “worried” about thefts at Beech Hill, the red handprint comes up here as a specific signature, seemingly appearing like clockwork when the Pacal carving is “stolen”.

Except it’s not the same culprit at all.

Like the culprit in Agatha Christie’s The ABC Murders committing three murders to conceal the only murder he had motive to commit, Henrik uses the red handprint as a smokescreen, trying to make it seem as if the theft is one of many (so it won’t be questioned) rather than an act of attempting to save the carving by stealing it first.

In this way, the handprint is a mask, serving to identify the culprit without actually identifying him at all. One of the greatest parts of the mystery/secret behind the game is that the handprint is a forgery, confusing the lines of proof just enough to make the player take a step back and think.

In the Introduction, I mentioned that Fate plays a big part in the overall plot of this game, and it’s here that fate really comes into its place of importance.

From the beginning, the Pacal carving is “fated” to be stolen, so much that when it happens it’s not really a surprise as much as a signal to the player that the introductory part of the game is over.

It’s a joke both in- and out-of-universe that Nancy is fated to find mystery wherever she goes, which adds another nail in the pre-determined nature of her internship.

It’s the unchanging fate of secrets that leads Sinclair to bustle around attempting to stop any hint of his smuggling operation from getting out while at the same time watching Nancy carefully as she solves the mysteries and exposes the secrets that he needs to get his hands on the secret of the monolith.

Nothing shows the hand of fate more, however, than Sinclair not actually being caught by Nancy. The Poetic Trio reciting their end-of-game lyrics simply say that the villain is stewing in his own miscalculations, and, other than giving him the wrong "treasure”, Nancy has absolutely nothing to do with Sinclair being caught.

Fate ultimately has more power than even Nancy in this game, leaving her not to “catch a thief red-handed”, but simply giving her the opportunity to “expose buried secrets”.

It’s a solid mystery from beginning to end, as Nancy tries to figure out how Sinclair could have pulled off the theft before realizing that it wasn’t Sinclair after all. Joanna and Alejandro do their best to muddy the waters and distract Nancy (and through Nancy, the player) just long enough to make the game feel like a true adventure.

The Suspects:

Joanna Riggs is the first person you meet in the game in an opening cinematic meant to show off what the game engine could do and to tease us with a silhouette shot of Nancy.

She’s also the least-impactful character in the game, which should stand as a testament to how good this game is with its inclusion of characters into the plot. Joanna’s in charge, basically, and gives Nancy her go-fer tasks until the Pacal carving is stolen.

She’s supposed to be a bit “quirky”, with her non-sensical Latin and her whining to Nancy about how the only thing worse than a highly prized and expensive carving going missing is her mom leaking her prom photos onto the internet (a v weird thing to equate, honestly), but she’s also the most innocent of the bunch, as her only crimes are over-spending on an artifact that the museum really couldn’t afford, and having the worst taste in employees/business associates ever.

As a culprit, Joanna wouldn’t have been a bad pick — it’d be a basic case of theft-for-insurance-money — but she’s certainly the most boring option, so I’m glad that she’s got nothing to do with it. That kind of a crime really wouldn’t fit the Hardy-Boys-aesthetic that’s going on in SSH anyway.

Henrik Van Der Hune is the employee in charge of glyph translation and the man who apparently was the sexual awakening of quite a few of the Clue Crew. He’s also a recent addition to the staff after he heard of their new Mayan exhibition pieces, so I can’t for the life of me figure out why he wasn’t the immediate suspect for the police, especially since it’s his handprint.

Henrik did a bit of a National Treasure-level spoof on the cops, stealing the carving first so that it wouldn’t get stolen later. He orders the cinnabar to make the handprint in Joanna’s name (really Henrik?? Like you didn’t know it was Sinclair all along?? Why??) and pulls off a moderately daring heist, considering he works 50 feet down the hallway from the carving.

Of course, if this were to come to light, the game would be over with no real bad guy nor tension, so Henrik takes a fall down the Insanely Dangerous replica stairs and winds up with a bad case of the forgetsies. At 61 years old, he’s lucky he didn’t bust his hip.

Henrik is a culprit, but he’s not the culprit, which is good, because I’m not sure that HER had the time or space to tackle the moral issue of a thief who loses their memory and can’t technically be tried for a crime that they didn’t knowingly commit.

They definitely could have tried, but I don’t think it would have worked.

As a culprit, Henrik could have worked, but there’s just not enough time to have him fake-steal and then steal for real. It would have been cool to have him be faking amnesia and sneaking out of the hospital to Burgle…but it would have taken a more advanced game engine and a much longer game to pull it off.

Alejandro Del Rio is an ambassador who works at the Mexican Consulate and is the epitome of “just because you’re technically right doesn’t mean you’re actually correct”.

While he’s right in that a ton of artifacts were stolen from Mexico (and other countries, but honestly he only cares about Mexican artifacts), but he’s incorrect in blaming Joanna and others like her, since those thefts didn’t happen in the number and scale that he’s referring to by 2002 (as opposed to, say, British archaeology in the early 20th century, as is touched on in TMB), and Joanna acquired the artifacts legally.

His cause is right, but blaming those who aren’t responsible does him no good — and can actually hurt him, as is the case in the game, where no one really takes him seriously.

He’s also an uptight, rather humorless character, but has a touch of Devilry about him (he’s not above blackmail, for example, or “trading information”) that makes him slightly different from Jeff Akers in DOG.

Alejandro’s biggest claim to fame is in fanfic, where, like in canon, he is Totally banging Joanna, and is apparently Very Physically Gifted. Good on you, Alejandro.

As a culprit, Alejandro would have been a rather hackneyed choice, as he’s the one who’d obviously steal the carving and monolith to transport it back to where it came from. It would also include giving him more to do in a game than setting up his Hate-FWB to take a call for something he, in all honesty, knew she didn’t do.

Taylor Sinclair is an art dealer with facial hair that’s sort of a grotesque work of art in and of itself, and also happens to be the culprit. He also has a CrimeFursona named “Big Bunny”, which is honestly enough to lock him up and throw away the key.

Sinclair is part of the black market and is looking to sell the carving and the secrets of the monolith in order to make it rich, which is a pretty standard motive, but is notable for including smuggling in a Nancy Drew game rather than a Hardy Boys novel, so that’s a point for him.

SSH is a howcatchem, so Sinclair’s real job in the game is to avoid leaving behind proof — and he does an excellent job. Granted, Henrik steals the Pacal carving before he can manage it, but until he shuts Nancy in the monolith and takes (what he thinks is) the treasure, there’s no piece of physical evidence to tie him to his crimes.

But, like all egotists, Sinclair’s failure comes because he just couldn’t resist being a cackling madman.

As a culprit, Sinclair’s perfect for this game. He’s slimy, untrustworthy, and pretty much everything you imagine a smuggler to be. He doesn’t really need any fleshing out beyond what he already has, because he lurks in the shadows for most of the game, only appearing when he has to in order to get information.

The Hardy Boys:

Honestly speaking, the Hardy Boys are the most important “innovation” of this game, and are the addition that really created the Nancy Drew games as we know and love them today.

Not only do the Hardy Boys establish that Nancy isn’t alone in this universe — that there are others her age out there like her, who solve mysteries and catch bad guys — but they also give the game regular phone friends who are established as capable of helping Nancy solve anything she asks for.

This makes a lot more sense than Bess/George/Ned suddenly becoming Super Sleuths, and frees up Ned/Bess/George to offer help and have dialogue more appropriate to their increasingly-fleshed-out characters.

And that’s the real benefit to the Hardy Boys: they allow for varied characterization for Nancy’s friends.

Before this game, Bess/George/Ned have all been indistinguishable from each other, possibly excepting Bess’ lame puns. From this game on, each reoccurring phone friend has their own personality, their own quirks, and their own areas of expertise.

Also, I adore the Hardy Boys (and have since I was small), so it’s great to see them semi-regularly. I love that sometimes you call them together, sometimes it’s one or the other, sometimes they appear in game…it’s really nice to have these characters to lean on and provide entertainment and freedom to the Nancy Drew world and formula.

On a final note, I don’t find it to be a coincidence that this is the first game with the Hardy Boys and that it’s also the most Hardy Boys-eque game so far (smuggling plots, false thefts, a suspect nearly dies and then decides to help out, the Hero Detective is trapped with no obvious means of escape, etc.). It’s a nice nod to the source material, and I appreciate it.

The Favorites:

I love the focus here on knowledge and on the quizzes as Nancy learns with the player. It’s one of the few games to truly be “edutainment” in the sense that it was meant back in the early 2000s, and I really do adore the pure and unbridled appreciation for learning in this game.

The puzzles in SSH are well-placed and make sense as part of the museum exhibit, allowing for the classic puzzles that Nancy Drew games (and players) know and love without having them feel kitschy or out of place.

Hands down my favorite thing in this game is how much characterization it features. Nancy’s in fine form, as are Bess and George, and the Hardy Boys, but even minor characters like Franklin Rose and Poppy Dada and Prudence Rutherford all have their own unique voices, problems, motivations, and secrets.

The four suspects are well-introduced and fleshed out, and do things simply for their own reasons rather than attempting to sound suspicious for the developers’ sake. It’s a great trend, and one that continues to grow (despite a few misses) as the series goes on.

Hat-tip to the Hardy Boys again here. I’ve said really all I want to say, but it’d be lying to not include them in the list of my favorite things about this game.

Sonny Joon is a great little easter egg (albeit a retroactive easter egg) and I thoroughly enjoy his presence in the game. “Hurricane Sonny” blows in and sticks around for the rest of the series, and it’s a joy to experience.

The best puzzle in the game…I really enjoy the audio quiz thing, but I get how it wouldn’t be other people’s cuppa. I’m gonna go ahead and say that it’s figuring out how to get the last artifact from the Poppy Dada painting, as it requires you do jump through just the right amount of hoops, and gives you some hilarious conversations while you’re figuring it out.

The best moment in this game hands-down is when Prudence Rutherford insinuates that she killed her mother-in-law for the necklace. It’s hilarious.

The Un-Favorites:

There are, however, a few things about this game that make it into the least-favorite category.

Collecting the packages with the different artifacts is almost wholly reliant on luck and patience, and it can be extremely annoying to have to go to sleep and wake up 4/5 times in a row before the final package arrives. As this would be an easy fix, it sticks out especially in my mind as being a pointlessly annoying thing.

Taylor Sinclair’s tie. No art dealer would wear that. It looks like a bottle of mustard and a placenta had a baby.

I do hate (as noted below in the Fix section) that you can only call certain people on certain phones. Phones don’t work that way — not even back in 2002 — and it is frustrating to have to travel back and forth or wait for morning to make a game-progressing phone call.

The worst puzzle in the game in my opinion is probably lugging the monolith stones around, because it really bothers me that if you take the shortest path, Nancy drops them, but if you take a slightly longer path, she’s totally fine.

While I can see how the quizzes might cause some people problems, if you take notes like the game encourages you to do (I remember taking notes in a spiral notebook for the first…10 games, about? Until we moved to sticky notes, because as me and my sister got much older, we didn’t need to write down as much), the quizzes are a walk in the park.

The worst moment in the game (which is still a great moment, just definitely my least favorite) is when the sirens go off in the museum. It’s loud, obnoxious, and Joanna just APPEARING suddenly makes me jump every time. It’s a testament to how good this game is that this is the worst moment I can think of.

The Fix:

So what fixes does SSH need?

Honestly, not many.

It’d be great to simplify the phones, so that any person you can call on one phone you can call on any phone (avoid the travel back and forth from the hotel to the museum, in other words), and to have deadlines or exact moments for package delivery so that you’re not waiting days (in-game) for the last straggler to show up.

Other than those small quibbles, however, there’s not much that needs fixing or refreshing in SSH. It’s educational, entertaining, difficult enough on the first go-around to keep you on your feet, but not so hard that replay value is lost — and there are no puzzles so bad that they make the game lose replay value, either.

SSH is a great game, both as #6 in the series and as a first game to those who can’t access the Classic Games, and is a delight to play — both the first time and in replays.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #secret of the scarlet hand #nancy drew meta #SSH #video games #my meta

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lethe-distillery-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Au Fait

“Come on, it’s time to wake up.” It took an impossible amount of effort but I managed to crawl my way out of the darkness and turn myself enough to get the sun out of my eyes and finally able to focus on my surroundings. Sensations filtered in, the intimate smell of shampoo, the memory of a perfume floating in the air as though the recipient had yet to apply some today but it was such a standard procedure that it was a permanent feature, and food. I smelled fruit, it was a fresh sweetness, eggs, and a few other things that I couldn’t quite place yet. Softness came next. The sheets. Silken things that rested comfortably against my skin, light and cool. I looked about the room slowly It took a long moment of staring blankly at the light turquoise edged in white for memory to start melting away the thick fog of slumber. Home, technically. I was in my master bedroom. Since I was blind in my dreams sight was often the last sensation for me to register and become aware of. “Come on sleepy head.” The voice was softness incarnate. If I could describe it as a song it would be a ballad, inherently musical, touching, and the bringer of comfort. There was a smile in that voice. There was a new sensation. Again, it was softness, but this was a different level of softness, a different level of comfort. This was skin, light and gentle on my cheek, and it moved, a delicate stroking motion that I couldn’t help but move into.

Seconds ticked by with the slowness of hours as things started coming back, sensations searing themselves into my psyche in preparation for another day. My body came under the command of my own will with an agonizing slowness. Breathing started fading from conscious effort to the methodical background familiarity. I forced myself to swallow, testing minute motor functions in a standard test that brought me through to the land of consciousness. Still, it wouldn’t likely be fully up and functioning for another while, time, that was a thought. Time. Years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds. Time. That particular word slid into its definition a bit easier today. “Are you in there?” I turned to look at the voice, the sound.

Her.

It was the only word that seemed necessary. It was a title of the universe that was bequeathed to the last of the divine. Beautiful was another word. So many words could describe her and all would be true and yet not the whole truth. Kind. Giving. Loving. Sweet. All things that one could use in description of her character and yet the only thing that could hope to ever encompass it all was a simple word, often unnoticed by poets or by lovers and yet, selfishly, I had latched onto it. Her. “There you are.” Her voice came to me, sweet and warm. She had long ago accepted the lengthy process that came from me trying to redefine myself as something material. I was grateful. I was never quite myself if I had to rush through this process, and I knew from others that it was an unusual and time consuming ritual and yet, she had never condemned me for it, only seeking to understand what made me, me.

She had listened with intrigue and fascination as I had done my best to explain that my thoughts were entirely made of letters latching onto one another. Forming words, definitions, explanations. These are what I thought in. Not pictures. And so, waking up was a process that for a person who pictures their thoughts would not be unlike waking up and immediately rolling over and having to read and encyclopedia to try and sort out the jumbled mess of pictures inside their head. It was an intriguing thing for us to discover, this difference between us. She helped me to my feet, my entire body screaming in sensation, the only way I could describe it is pain really but yet it wasn’t. It was, awareness, that my muscles moved, that my joints moved in a particular pattern and how my weight effected these things. It was all new, vivid, intense and so it felt like my brain practically exploded each morning. She helped me into the shower, her words providing a steady and soft comfort that though I did not deserve I selfishly gobbled up, telling me about the simplest of things. The cool tile, the warm water, what she had made for breakfast. All of it helped, associating words with the definition inside my head to what that particular item was.

“Alright, you shower, I need to make sure breakfast doesn’t burn on you sleepy head.” Her voice was teasing and I reached out to touch her cheek. It felt like the petals of a flower, soft and silken, delicate. Her hand touched mine and her smile was tender. “I’ll be back soon.” She stepped away and I missed her immediately, bereft of comfort and sanity in this world that I had to learn yet again. The shower was hot, the tile cool. The dark room helped me from getting overwhelmed by colors and other input. One thing at a time. I focused on each sensation in turn. The temperature differences between water and tile, the way the water felt, how it rained down onto me but also slid over my skin, the way my hair matted down. Everything was carefully assessed and brought back into my version of reality.

By the time I was shaved and showered, I felt about three quarters human. Which, counted for a lot. Having her here and willing to both understand and to do the small things she did without a second thought really did take a process that could take several hours and knock it down to less than a single hour. Food was still one of those hit and miss things, some days it worked, others it didn’t. I came up behind her at the counter, my own voice was slowly coming back. I had repeated small things in the shower. She would never believe if I told her that her name was foremost among them. I was so terrified of people leaving, especially her, that I wanted to make sure she was the one thing that made sense in my world. I could deal with everything else being wrong. Not her. Anything but her.

Our lips met and I savored her like wine, my mind sorting through the sensations that provided like a connoisseur would pick up the delicate notes of a particularly pleasant vintage. Softness, like rain. Sweet like honey and yet savory, like salted caramel. There was the harsh taste of coffee, bitter notes, background. Things started slowly coming back, the very world coming into focus and sharpness as we stood there and I experienced all the world around me through her and with her. She truly was all I needed, with her I knew that I would always remember everything else. A cough sounded and though I ignored it she pulled away with a smile teasing those wonderful lips of hers and, without much choice it seemed, I turned to face the sound.

My son.

He sat at the table holding a mug of coffee, a smirk on his features as he shook his head though his eyes flashed his amusement. He had come home the other night from college, funny how small details slipped the mind. “Excuse me,” his voice was sarcastic and I could hear his amusement, “that is my mother you are molesting you know.” Yeah. It is your mother, and I would think I am allowed to in my own home. I behaved enough when you were at home young whippersnapper so be grateful you interrupted when you did. The words didn’t come out of course, but I did manage a smile; smiling, up until her that had been a strange and alien thing and yet because of her and through her, it had become regular and yet could never be commonplace. She drew my focus back to her. “Would you like coffee?” I shook my head, the motion causing the slightest tinges of vertigo, I didn’t think I needed it today. Her smile was tender and she kissed me, much to the chagrin and sardonic gagging of our audience. “Go sit, I’ll bring you something to drink. Hot?” I nodded, the movement making me feel muscles and tendons flex and bulge.

I sat down, and let sensation wash over me. The smell of food, the sound of it cooking, their talking back and forth. Through time it had just been easier to explain that I was grumpy in the morning, it was easier than trying to explain what was actually going on. So I simply let the conversation happen around me, though I did pay attention to details as I nursed a proffered peppermint tea. School had been going well, though there was now a girl he was interested in. I shared a look with her, her smile was knowing. Fate had thrown us together, quite unexpectedly in fact, and we both knew exactly what he was talking about with the frustrations of not being able to separate his emotions from his rational thoughts. Weird that. Must be a universal thing or something. She brought breakfast to the table and I ate slowly, working things through my mouth as they shared and talked.

Part of me wished I could join in on these early morning talks, it just seemed like the proper family thing to do. But not once had she ever judged me for my inability to be normal. Instead, she would sometimes tell me about her day and what she had planned, or she would sit with me in silence and just experience the incredible reality that was our life. Besides, I could always talk later, after everything had settled a little more. Right now, it took a large portion of my thoughts to focus on chewing and no biting my tongue. Harder than you might think I’ll have you know. Still though, it was a pleasant meal to share, even if I believed that waking up before seven am had to be some form of torture. Her fingers stroked mine from where she rested her hand on mine. I savored those small contacts. For too long I had not had any contact at all, and now; now that I had her, I made sure to savor and cherish each one.

“I think your dad would be more that willing to help you change the oil in your car later.” I nodded my answer to her statement, not that it was needed but still, it felt like I was at least taking part of it all then. She squeezed my hand lightly and smiled. Yeah, that was why waking up so early was worth it. Her.

I was putting the final dishes into the dishwasher when I felt her arms wrap around me from behind, I closed my eyes and savored it. I pulled her a little closer, feeling her breasts press to my back and the warm puffs of every exhale. I was coming back to myself, feeling more and more comfortable within my own skin as the morning moved on. Even by the end of breakfast I had started to bring myself around more, it had been nice. She squeezed me lightly, her voice a delicate little whisper that slid over me. “I love you.”

Mine by comparison sounded harsh, cracked and rough. But I needed to say them. A desire deep inside me would not be denied that, I knew that she knew but I needed to tell her, to make sure that she knew. “I love you too.” Her hands tightened for a long moment and we stood there. In our small home, our little dream playing out before us in ways that neither of us could have ever imagined and yet it seemed to be perfectly what we both wanted. “Always.”

“Always.”

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