#he murdered his matron and everyone in the house

[the-interplay-of-sex-and-violins]

Kelyn

Lolth-sworn(ish) Drow

Assassin/Bard

Daddy's Favorite Murder Prince (until he's not)

Desperately struggling to be chaotic good, at least he has the "chaotic" part down

Menzoberranzan

Once upon a time in Menzoberranzan a bit over a century ago, the matron of House Zauvirr--a small but ambitious noble house--fell spontaneously pregnant. She thought nothing of it, having not been a particularly chaste woman, and in time gave birth to a boy by the name of Kelyn.

From birth, Kelyn was marked as unusual, having naturally black hair and vitiligo; normally such defects would be the end of any boy-child's story in Menzoberranzan, but Kelyn's mother was keen to keep as many people for her house as possible, and since Kelyn was her second-born son and might yet prove useful despite his flaws, she allowed him to live...for now.

Kelyn was given to his older sister, Alythara, to raise, which she struggled to do as she was constantly fighting her own innately kind nature vs. what was expected of her. Despite having to be harsher than she'd like (to keep Kelyn from being taken from her and given to a "better" guardian, likely one of their more vicious older sisters), the two developed a bond, as Kelyn himself was a sweet boy when allowed to be. From the moment he could manage it he was taught Disguise Self for the purposes of "fixing" his coloration to hide his vitiligo and natural hair color, and had it literally beaten into him to never let it slip.

When Kelyn was seven, he was separated from Alythara and caught alone by a would-be assassin. Contrary to what everyone expected, Kelyn killed the man himself--and furthermore, was entirely unbothered by the event, and in fact found a great deal of pleasure in the whole thing. Nobody knows who hired the assassin--though the scant evidence pointed to a potential rival house...or possibly Kelyn's own matron, as some manner of test.

Either way, the event caught the attention of everyone in House Zauvirr, and it was quickly decided that they should capitalize on the boy's apparent talent for murder and train him as an assassin. He was taken from Alythara's care, and for a time she saw little of him.

Kelyn excelled at the training, though he was impatient to put it to use, now that he'd tasted blood. His first job as a newly-trained assassin was in his early teens, to eliminate a member of a rival house. It was emphasized that if he botched any part of it, he would have to kill everyone--this was intended to impress on him the need for perfection, and to emphasize that if he got into trouble, he was alone and hopelessly outnumbered.

He instead took it as a suggestion.

When he did make a minor slip, he then proceeded to do as he'd been told: to kill everyone. By the time he left, the house had been reduced to flayed bodies and strung-up viscera and little else, and Kelyn was positively beaming.

So was his mother, once she got over the shock of how the job had gone.

Kelyn spent the next seventy or so years as his house's pet assassin, building a reputation for both himself and House Zauvirr: nobody knew his exact identity because nobody who saw him working ever survived, and word got around about House Zauvirr's viciously efficient and brutal new killer.

It was when he was around eighty that he discovered his skill for music, entirely by accident. As it turned out, Kelyn's talent for murder was only matched by his talent for music, particularly strings, and most especially violin...and in using music as a means to manipulate magic. This, too, was quickly encouraged, as use of a bard's magic and skills would only be a boon to his assassination work.

The problem, however, is that music had another affect on him: it quieted the urges that bade him to kill.

With something finally quieting the Urge ever since it had arose in him, Kelyn could finally look back on his past with a clear head...and he was horrified by the things he'd done, and worse, taken joy in doing. But now he was at an impasse: if he didn't continue to perform as he had, he would become dead weight to his house and thus be culled. So, for a time, he tried to manage: to do what he had been raised for, and to try not to let it tear him apart in the process.

Alythara found him again one day when he'd retreated to a hiding place to have a mental breakdown, and in that moment, the two reconnected: she recognized the baby brother she'd thought she'd lost in him and that he, like her, hated Menzoberranzan and what it had turned him into, and Kelyn found someone like him so he wasn't entirely alone. The two quickly became each other's confidants and only friends, and occasionally floated the idea of escaping together, though neither was willing to risk it.

Until one day Kelyn disappeared after a job. It was unlikely he was dead: his body wasn't found, and while it was possible he had been fatally injured and made sure to die elsewhere so as not to implicate his house, his skill made it unlikely. Alythara searched every place she knew he might go, only to find a few of his things missing, and a note left for her.

All it said was "I'm sorry".

The Surface and Baldur's Gate

Kelyn fled to the surface after snapping under the pressure of his innate nature vs. the things he was forced to do. There, he immediately set to reinventing himself: he leaned fully into his actual passion, music, and got by as a bard with an uncommon skill with knives. He spent a few years aggressively and selflessly doing good wherever possible and surrounding himself with art and music, in part as an attempt to make up for his blood-soaked past, and in part to suppress the Urge, since now that he knew what it would make him do, he needed to suppress it at all costs.

One day, he met a tiefling girl of about five. Her name was Yurissa, and she couldn't tell him much more than that: she was an orphan, and too young to recall the exact circumstances around her orphaning. She quickly took a liking to Kelyn and refused to leave his side, and before long he was forced to accept that she'd adopted him.

It wasn't long after that that the Bhaalists found him, with Sceleritas Fel in their midst. He had, in fact, already avoided them multiple times, having mistaken them from agents from Menzoberranzan intent on dragging him back: instead, they were keen to tell him their actual plan: to bring him home to Baldur's Gate and the Temple of Bhaal, because he was a Bhaalspawn. He was, in fact, the Bhaalspawn: his father's greatest creation, molded from his own dead flesh to enact his will.

Kelyn would have refused, if not for Yurissa. Life was hard for a drow thrust suddenly into the surface world, much less one who had suddenly found himself with a young girl to raise and no clue how to do that; the Temple offered him a chance to provide a more stable life for her, at the cost of his morals and sanity. More to the point, the Urge gnawed at him constantly, and it often targeted Yurissa: perhaps if he fed it with other victims, it would be content to leave her unharmed.

So he and Yurissa moved to Baldur's Gate, and he took up the mantle as Bhaal's Chosen.

To the public eye (and Yurissa) Kelyn was simply a friendly, social bard, trying to get by (and managing decently enough) and raising his adopted daughter. Behind the scenes, he fell back on the profession he knew, assassination, and led Bhaal's cult of murder, losing pieces of himself with every kill. He still fought the Urge when he could, surrounding himself in art and music even in the Temple itself, but less and less as Bhaal's will slowly ground the fight out of him.

A couple years later, he got an invitation from one Enver Gortash, who wished to meet Bhaal's scion and see if they could strike up a partnership that suited both of their interests. Intrigued, Kelyn agreed, and before long the two were fast friends, despite their opposing gods and strictly-business relationship. It was impossible to deny the physical attraction between them, which quickly gave way to an intellectual attraction and deep respect as they proved themselves to one another. Eventually, one night, it came to a head and they ended up in bed together: the two of them emerged from it bloodied, dazed, and thoroughly unrepentant.

The exact nature of Kelyn and Gortash's relationship wasn't clear to anyone who knew them, but it became common to see them together. In private, the two wouldn't have called themselves a couple, but they were also the only constant in each other's lives: Gortash originally wanted largely to possess Bhaal's Chosen and prove his dominance over him, only to be caught off guard by how much he genuinely respected and admired the man for himself. Some part of him recognized the monster in Kelyn and loved it, and was almost as eager to encourage it as he was to hold the monster's leash.

Kelyn, for his part, found a certain safety he'd never known before in someone who knew what he was, accepted it whole-heartedly, and even loved him for it. And if a monster was all he would ever be, then why not at least find someone who loved the monster? Beyond that: if someone could hold his leash, maybe then he wouldn't have to worry about who he might hurt. If Enver wanted it, he was willing to hand it over; he didn't trust any other hand to hold tightly enough. Besides, sex was another thing that helped quiet the Urge for a time, and since it was now on offer from someone he could trust might be able to protect themselves from him...why not?

A decade or so passed, and during that decade, Kelyn's blood-sister Orin seethed. She already hated her brother for many reasons, primarily his weakness, his love for Yurissa that was most unbecoming of a Bhaalspawn, and his ineffective, stubborn attempts to resist their father's call. Nonetheless, Kelyn was his father's son, and too powerful for her to simply kill: he refused to recognize an official challenge from her, and the closest she ever got to provoking him was when she once threatened Yurissa's life a bit too openly and he nearly carved her up right there in the Temple.

And now he was cavorting about with a Banite, of all things, and getting weak for him as well as the girl.

When Kelyn went to Moonrise Towers one day to check on the progress there, Orin followed and ambushed her brother. She chiseled his skull open, stuffed a mindflayer tadpole into the crack, and left him to die or be enthralled; she took his dagger and left him with just his violin, so all he had left to him was the symbol of his weakness.

[justashamwithwastedpotential]

OCCE - Jade Overview

Masterlist

Meet Jade!

A master thief, Nightingale, assassin, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Arch-Mage of the College, Harbinger of the Companions, Dragonborn/Alduin's Bane, and Thane of every hold in Skyrim. Also a lovely mother of six children, married to a werewolf, and has a vampire lord as a best friend.

Jade has gone through her fair share of adventures, most of them begrudgingly, but it has earned her a fancy amount of titles.

And riches.

So many riches.

She originally got her start as a member of the thieves guild in a town called Riften, but after botching a job and killing a witness to her crime, she sought out shelter with the infamous assassins of the Dark Brotherhood.

But the Mistress of the Sanctuary, Astrid, had her doubts about one of the newest additions to the crew, a jester named Cicero who had taken a dislike to Astrid and the other members' blatant disregard for the Brotherhood's traditions. Astrid sent Jade to spy on Cicero by hiding in the coffin he tended to that held the ancient bones of the Dark Brotherhoods unholy matron, the Night Mother.

It was while she was hiding that the Night Mother reached out to her marking Jade as the new Listener for the Dark Brotherhood. Aka she now gets to be the only person in the world who hears the voice of a long dead woman in her head telling her who to murder. A glamorous position I assure you.

Jade denied her role at first, and took every measure she could to evade it. She traveled across Skyrim gaining favors in every hold, gained housing in every major city, settled down and focused on raising her children. But the Night Mother's voice echoed in her head all the same until she gave up pretending that her life of being the altruistic hero was something she wanted and she returned to serving the Brotherhood.

Her kids however, still continued to grow older eventually heading off in different directions to pursue their own dreams. And while Jade traveled to the mage's college to drop off one of her daughters she got roped into a series of events that eventually lead to her becoming Arch-Mage of the college despite knowing a grand total of like, four spells at the time. No one protested or questioned this development (much to Jade's annoyance).

Similarly to the mages college, through misguided intentions, coin, and a bit of blackmail she also ended up the leader of one of the most "honorable" groups of fighters in Skyrim. Unlike the mages, everyone questioned this, but still no one protested out of respect for the previous Harbinger's wishes.

It was here however that she met a man named Farkas who was often assigned as her companion on these missions. At first, she considered him a hindrance, but eventually came to appreciate the giant meat shield- I mean skilled fighter that he was. She'd grown used to his presence, and he'd come to respect her, even more so after she became Harbinger.

They continued to travel together and eventually most of Jade's kids had begun taking a liking to him, and one by one they all started to band together to try to convince Jade to marry him, some less subtly than others (the oldest did not approve, but he was out voted by his siblings).

They were unsuccessful in their attempts, but the idea of courtship did start to stick, and after Jade had gone on to save the world from the dragon uprising (as a main character does) Farkas officially proposed to her.

For sake of the stardew bit we're starting here in the timeline: with the two hunting down some cultists who crashed their wedding ceremony.

Which means Farkas has just been left stranded somewhere without his wife. Whoops.

He'll probably be okay.

Life in the Valley (Coming Soon)

[lumina-rose]

Tear You Apart

Chapter 2/4

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32168824/chapters/79765408#workskin 

Pairing:

Laszlo x Reader

Summary:

Mere months after the conclusion of the Beecham case, Dr.Kreizler and his associates are asked once again to solve a new series of murders that plague the streets of New York. They are joined by the alienist's new assistant, who's presence soon unravels startling revelations. Not only within the case, but also within the mind of one of their own.

(This story is set between the events of Season 1 and Season 2)

Warnings:

Murder Mystery, Graphic Description of Corpses, slight dark!Laszlo (kinda. Think Will “This is my design” Graham), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Minor Violence, Friends to Lovers,Assistant, Boss/Employee Relationship,Tension, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining.

(More Future Warnings TBD)

Notes:

Chapter 2: Love & Hate

It had been a full day since your strange interaction with Dr. Kreizler.

After waiting to for him to gather everyone involved with the investigation, you were troubled when no call came. Part of you worried that it was due to your disturbing experience, but you fought back your anxieties with logic. Even if something had happened between the two of you, Laszlo would never let it interfere with the case. Still, that did not stop you from worrying about the alienist. Your mind constantly returning to that moment.

His tired appearance, caused by countless hours of work and stress, which were aided by sleepless nights theorizing the motives and background of the murderer that haunted New York. The vacant trace-like state that overtook him, as though his actions were being controlled by something else. Someone else. The warm feeling of his palm against your skin, a feeling that would have been calming and welcome, had it not been placed around your throat. Yet, the firm but gentle hold had thrilled you- excited you. But it also frightened you. And even now, you debated your mixed, complex emotions. There was fear, yes, but excitement too. Or was there both? Or were they the same? What was the difference between the two?

You had felt like this before, in fleeting moments and never quite as strong. You had felt it with small admirers from your past, though nothing ever came from these interactions. You had felt it when you first began your work at the Kreizler Institute, upon seeing the care taken to provide the city's troubled youth with a sanctuary, free from the pressures of society. And recently, in small moments with Dr. Kreizler, himself, after working by his side tirelessly. On your trips to the Opera, when you both would be given a chance to simply talk- not about work or the mentally ill- just genuine conversations, discussing your hobbies, interests, and hopes for the future. One particular moment had stuck out to you, thinking back. It had been late, and you had joined Kreizler back at his home after a long day of work. You shared a drink together, when he finally asked you what you hoped to gain from learning from him.

Usually when men asked about what you wanted to do as a working woman, they were against the notion that you wished to become an alienist, believing that a woman could never become a doctor despite the fact that there were a rare few that already were. Indeed, even with the likes of Marcus, Lucius, and John Moore there was apprehension. With Dr. Kreizler, however, he never tried to persuade you otherwise and spoke only with respect and encouragement in regards to your dream. Ever since that moment, you had harbored affection for the alienist, though you would never act on it. If not for the sake of your own feelings, then for Laszlo's reputation.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

Your mind found its way back to the present, returning you to your surroundings. You stood in the small apartment that had become your home, a space you had rented out from a Mr. Louis Arnett. He was an older man who had been left a widower, and remained unmarried to this day. While he was a bit older than yourself, perhaps eleven years your senior, it wasn't impossible to imagine the possibility of him remarrying. It often made you wonder if his lack of interest in remarriage was due to his age or grief. Due to the sudden passing of his late wife, he had moved to a new house in the city, but offered for you to live in his previous residence, as long as you kept paying your bill on time. Since the Kreizler Institute was more generous in terms of wages, that had never been an issue for you. Still, sometimes the older landlord would come by to check on the space, often taking time to sit and chat with you despite your insistence that it wasn't necessary.

"I must apologize, Mr. Arnett." You sighed, giving a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I'm afraid my mind is elsewhere as of late."

The older gentleman sat at a small table in the center of the room, drinking from a cup. He wore his typical suit, all black- save for one pin attached to his tie. A lily was depicted on the small item, as a tribute to his late wife. You eyed the item warily now, only being reminded of the bloodied bouquets.

He gave an understanding look. "As I can imagine. Nasty business. I must say, I'm rather concerned about that alienist you say you work for....Kreshner, was it? Letting a lady such as yourself work well into the night, with all these horrible attacks going on."

"Kreizler. Doctor Kriezler." You corrected. Another burning heat flashed through you, upon Arnett's mentioning of your employer, wrapping around the collar of your dress jacket. "As for myself, I am capable of finding my way home safely."

"Of that, I am certain. I do hope the man doesn't keep you there too late." Arnett relented, chuckling slightly at your reaction.

You turned to the landlord, scoffing.

"I assure you, if Dr. Kreizler had it his way, I'd be back well before the sun had begun to set. If anything, it's at my insistence that I spent so much time at the Institute."

"Is that so?"

You were used to speaking casually with the older gentleman, during such visits, but your comment seemed to intrigue the man. Perhaps you should be a bit more careful with your words. You stiffened slightly, rushing to correct your mistake.

"With the attack of those four women, I believe we should be using what time we have to catch the person responsible. My beauty sleep can wait, for now."

The man nodded, thinking for a moment, before standing to come closer to my side. Holding a hand out, he gave a quick goodbye. "Very well, Ms. (L/n). I suppose I shouldn't keep you. Though, I do wish you would take care of yourself."

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Arnett." You nodded. "I should be heading to the Institute soon, anyways. Perhaps I can walk you down?"

"You are too kind, my dear."

You brushed off the endearment, convincing yourself it was merely a phrase he used often, and went to join the man in his exit. Once outside, the sounds and smells of the street hit you, reminding you that even with a killer on the loose, nothing could stop the momentum of New York. You escorted Mr. Arnett on the sidewalk, waiting as he attempted to hail a cab. After a few long minutes of idle conversation, a small carriage approached, stopping before the two of you. You gave a quick goodbye to the landlord, beginning to rush him away, as you grew more concerned with the time. Finally, once the cab was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh.

It wasn't that the man's company was unpleasant. In fact, you were grateful to find a landlord in the city who was so welcoming and reasonable with rent prices, there was just something about Mr. Arnett that seemed odd. It was as though he sought to interject himself into a person's life, whether or not it was welcomed. Though you were now used to the man's occasional visits, it had been a bit unsettling at first. From what you'd heard before moving here, most people in the city didn't bat an eye when it came to the lives of strangers. Then again, he was a widower, offering up what used to be his home to anyone who would be willing to pay. Maybe having a woman in the house reminded him of happier times?

Now on your own, your mind was drawn back to Dr. Kreizler and the investigation that had taken over your current daily life. You had been a bit untruthful in your conversation with Mr. Arnett earlier, in saying that you needed to return to the Kriezler Institute for the day. In fact, you had been given the day off in advance by the alienist, for what he called a "well deserved break". Nevermind the fact that he had ignored you when you suggested he do the same. Looking back on it now, you wished he had taken your advice. These murders were clearly effecting him, if yesterday was any indication.

The walk to the Institute had been short, given that you only lived a few city blocks away. Even from the sidewalk outside, you could hear the cheers and laughter of the children inside, followed quickly by the voice of one of the matrons. You smiled lightly, knowing that at least the patients of the Institute seemed happy, despite the dark times the city was currently facing. It reminded you why your efforts in the investigation were so important. You faced the ugliest parts of life, so that they wouldn't have to.

When you entered the front doors of the Institute, you were relieved to see that no one appeared to be in the halls. While you usually enjoyed the company of the children, you didn't want to be pulled away from your current goal of finding Dr. Kreizler. You made your way towards the alienist's study, knowing you might find him there. After the fourth victim had been found, there was no doubt in your mind that he had once again stayed up all night, trying to go over every detail of the murder.

You found the door to the doctor's study left ajar, a sight that unsettled you. You crept inside, calling out softly for the doctor, before stepping in fully. After receiving no response, you glanced around. The walls of bookshelves towered over you, but you noticed spaces were there were empty slots where certain books were meant to be, no doubt to help create the ever-growing mountain on the main center table. Papers and pages were scattered about, messily, along with notes and photos from the murder victims. A chalk board had been placed inside the study, and had stayed there ever since the new case began. Countless questions were written, some organized to certain corners, while others were placed haphazardly.

Sleep fascination? Somnophilia?

Meaning of Flowers? Personal or Symbolic?

Physical Strength- perhaps a labor worker or military background?

Love and Hate?

Your eyes landed on the last question, drawing you back to your last discussion with Sara. Only now it seemed the question wasn't love or hate, rather love and hate. Much like your fear and excitement, it seemed Dr. Kreizler was starting to blur the two. In your distraction, you had failed to notice the door to the side laboratory open, where Laszlo emerged from, followed closely by a young girl.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

The gentle questioning tone in words were countered only by the rough, scratchiness in his voice. Turning quickly, you gave the doctor a startled stare. The circles under his eyes were darker, confirming your suspicions, but you were pleased to see that he had taken the time to clean up his appearance overnight.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Kreizler, I had called for you but you never answered." You explained.

"It's quite alright, I was just talking with Loretta." He gave a small smile to the girl, who clung to his good hand. When his eyes came back to you, a small jolt went through you. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Never."

The man quickly told the young girl to go join the other children outside, earning a silent nod and goodbye from her. As she rushed out, her hair bounced behind her, as she eagerly went to find her friends. You couldn't help but grin. Loretta was one of the more troubled youths. After an incident with a wild dog as a small child, she had been left with an intense fear of all animals. That fear later formed into troubling habits of torturing and hurting any creature she came across. Even going as far as to set fire to a neighboring cat's tail. You never would expect such a sweet smile to hide such violent tendencies.

"How did she react to the monkey?" You asked, curiously, looking back at Laszlo.

"She's improved, but is still afraid of them unless someone shows that they're friendly. It may be a while until she can deal with animals on her own." He nodded, mostly to himself, as if making a mental note. He stayed in his spot, by the door, as he continued. "I wasn't expecting you, I'm afraid. I believe I told you that you could have the day off."

"You did."

"And yet, you are here."

Still, he remained in place, as if he wanted to be near an exit at all times. You paused for a moment, stepping back towards the chalk board.

"I wanted to discuss something with you, but if you are otherwise occupied, I can wait." You said.

He stepped closer now, but still a good distance away. For some reason, that fact irked you. "Then you caught me at just the right moment. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

Ah, avoidance.

You didn't miss the fake curiosity in his tone, as he vaguely asked you what was on your mind. It was a test, and you both knew it. Would you mention his strange behavior? Did you dare? Did you want to? Did he want you to, or was this simply an attempt to forget the action, altogether?

You bit the inside of your cheek, biting back a frown. Two could play these games. "I wanted to share a thought I had about the case."

Instantly, Kreizler approached the table, overlooking the piles of read and unread books, in order to watch your expression, gauge your behavior. His expression became serious. "Go on?"

"I was thinking about why the killer used chloroform on his victims, despite failing to render them unconscious." You answered, your eyes meeting his. "I thought about the possibility that perhaps putting them to sleep wasn't his goal, nor was it to be used as a painkiller. As you pointed out, if reducing pain was it's purpose then he wouldn't resort to strangling the women. So then what if his goal was merely to disorient them, to make them unable to fight back? Perhaps the combination of panic and the effects of the drug caused them to go into shock? If that were his goal, then that would explain why he continues to use it."

The alienist pondered this for a moment. "He’s created an obsession with his true target, creating a delusion and using his victims as substitutes for her. If this is true, then perhaps the use of chloroform was simply a desperate attempt to keep them from fighting, from breaking the illusion he's created in his mind."

"That would also explain why he would then turn to using violence against them when they struggled." You nodded. "I suspect our latest victim fought a bit harder than the others, due to the stronger markings on her."

"It also supports the killer’s effort to cover up the wounds of the struggle. It would suggest that the victims didn’t want it to happen, when his delusion depends on their submission to him." Laszlo added, looking over the photographs. "He's become obsessed his target, taking pleasure from the idea that they will accept him, and escalating to violence when he's denied that pleasure."

He moved with a strong purpose, over to the chalk board, writing down a new series of thoughts and questions. There was a serious focus in his gaze, contradicted by a light glint in his brown eyes. You focused on his hand, as he quickly scratched the white chalk against the board's surface, following its path until he was done. The doctor stepped back, his chest heaving up and down slightly. A slight, satisfied smirk on his face.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" He asked, curiously, sighing.

A burning blush had reached your face, and your heart raced at the fact that your theory had brought some level of joy to the man. Blinking, you looked away, slightly embarrassed by your reaction. "I had an idea back at the morgue, before you..."

...before you grabbed my throat. You had trailed off, not wishing to speak the words aloud. Still, It seemed your message got through to Laszlo.

Now his eyes turned away, looking to the ground, as a rosy color reached the apples of his cheeks. There was a mixture of emotions in his expression, ones you could see he was fighting to hold back. Shame, embarrassment, regret, and something more. He no longer stood far away from you, as he had been just a moment before, yet you could tell he wanted nothing more than to be closer to the exit of the room.

“I must apologize, it was improper on my part and disrespectful to your boundaries." A hand went through his hair, a nervous reaction. "I fear I’m not sure what came over me.”

He didn't seem capable of looking at you, and you found yourself desperate to see his eyes. Taking a small step towards him, his head slowly turned to you. You gave him a reassuring smile.

"This case has been disturbing for all of us, Doctor, I won't blame you for being effected by it. Trying to understand the thoughts of the person responsible for these acts has proven to me that there is darkness in all of us... and that it's hard not to be consumed by it." You said, hoping to sound understanding.

You now stood only a couple feet away. His eyes met yours, as his expression gave way to something softer. "I’m not sure how I could make it up to you, after frightening you in such a way. If I still...”

Now you understood. There was the slightest tremor in his voice, but it was there. He was afraid. Afraid of his actions, afraid of how you'd react, afraid that you were scared of him now.

"I don't fear you, Laszlo." You admitted, softly. "I fear for you. If you truly wish to make it up to me, then allow yourself a break, if only for a day."

"I.." He shook his head, stubbornly, and glanced back to the photographs. "I can't-"

"-you will do no good if you work yourself to death before we even find a suspect." You countered, standing your ground. "Perhaps time away would clear your head. Please, Laszlo."

You bit you lip, as you prayed your heart would stop racing. You knew that Kreizler could be stubborn, often not listening to reason once he'd made up his mind. He paused, debating whether or not to listen to your advice. The ghost of a smile flickered over his face, before disappearing just as quickly as it came.

"How long has it been since we last went to the opera?"

You stared, unable to process his question for moment, as you focused solely on the word: “We”. After your initial shock, you cleared you throat. "I..I believe a month, perhaps?"

In truth, you weren't sure. After your investigation began, days and nights began to blur. You knew it had been more than a couple of weeks, at the least. Kreizler chuckled, softly.

"Well, then we must remedy that, shouldn't we?"

You weren't sure why you were so nervous. Going to the opera with Laszlo wasn't a first for you, so why did it feel so different this time?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, after changing into yet another dress for the outing. Perhaps it was because you felt surprised that Laszlo had asked you to join him, after the events of the day before. Or maybe it was because you couldn't get his actions out of your head, constantly thinking back to the feeling of his hand on you. You had been understanding that his action wasn't completely his own in that moment, but had that changed anything between you? Had he thought back to that moment, as you had?

Surely not, since you were about to accompany the alienist for the night. Then again, when you had insisted that he took a break, you didn't think he'd want to spend it with you, and yet here you were: stressing over what you should wear to the engagement. You wondered if you were just making a big deal out of nothing. He had said he wanted to make it up to you, and perhaps this was a compromise he'd found acceptable, allowing you both to have a night without worry or stress.

"Foolish." You sighed at your reflection, and the obvious blush that overtook your features, making it clear that it was not simply makeup that gave your cheeks a darkened color. "Absolutely foolish."

It wasn't often that you wore your formal attire, nor did you have an entire day to prepare for the night ahead. The payoff was that you looked far better than usual, a small comfort for your nerves. Was this too much? The question was now an echo in the seemingly endless cave that made up your mind. You shook your head, turning away from the mirror, once again cursing yourself for thinking in such a manner. Regardless, it was far too late now to worry about these little details, as the clock in your home rang out, signalling the time. You'd have to leave soon in order to make it to the theater at a reasonable time.

Every so often, as you began to gather you things for the night, your mind returned back to the investigation. You'd scold yourself. Tonight was a break, you didn't need to think about the horrors you'd seen. Laszlo needed this. Lord knows you needed this. Despite your nervousness, tonight was just a fun outing with a dear friend. And you intended to enjoy it, while you still had the chance.

A knock at your door startled you, as you prepared to leave for the evening. A shadow danced under the crack at the bottom of your door, signalling that there was indeed someone there, and not just your ears plating tricks on you. Cautiously, you reached for the knob. Was someone meant to visit today? No, you wouldn't have forgotten if Sara or the Isaacson twins were meant to come by.

When you opened the door, a man stood there, smiling down at you.

"Oh, hello Cyrus!" You greeted, sighing in relief.

The tall man gave you a nod, a smile playing out over his features. "Ms. (L/n)."

"Why..I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you, has.. Has something happened?"

Your heart and mind raced together. Had Laszlo changed his mind? No, he wouldn't be so rude as to cancel your plans last minute. Unless there was something important. Had another body been found?

Cyrus chuckled, shaking his head. "No, nothing of the sort. Dr. Kreizler just asked if Stevie and I could take you to the opera."

"Oh." It's all you could say, as you fought back another flush from your face.

"You look lovely tonight, Ms. (L/n)." Cyrus said, comfortingly, before turning his head back to the street. 

There, Laszlo's young ward, Stevie, sat at the driver's seat of the carriage, clearly itching to leave, so that he might race through the streets. You smiled, unable to hold back your joy.

"Thank you, Cyrus."

You had already gathered your belongings for the evening, not that there was really much you could bring, only a small bag attached to your wrist. You stepped out of your home, pausing only to lock the door behind you. You hurried down the front steps to the sidewalk, where you were promptly let into the empty carriage. Once inside and settled, you beamed, unable to contain yourself. You reasoned that your unexpected escort was probably due to concerns for your safety at this time of night, and nothing more. Still, a certain lightness in your chest emerged, bubbling up inside you, causing you to beam as you looked out the side window. 

You heard Stevie cheer out, and suddenly the vehicle pulled forwards. After a moment, you felt the wheel hit a large bump. You laughed after a second of surprise. Maybe your ride wouldn't be as calm as Doctor Kreizler had expected, but you couldn't find it within you to care.

When you finally made it to the theater, you had arrived a bit earlier than you expected. Not that you should be surprised, given how Stevie raced you through the city. On the carriage had stopped, Cyrus opened the door and bid you farewell. You watched the boy-driven carriage disappear into the night, before turning to face the opera house. The building was a towering structure, with large marble beams that made up the entrance. The warm, yellow light from the inside called to you, ushering you to join the fun. Given that Cyrus hadn't told you when Laszlo would arrive, you assumed he was waiting there for you. Picking up the skirt of your dress, you began your climb up the stairs, a slight urgency in your step.

You had found him a few minutes later, standing by the large stair case that lead to the upper level seats of the theater. Before he had seen you, you took a moment to admire his form. You had seen him in his formal suit before, a simple black suit with a white bow tie, but you always had to stop and admire the expensive outfit. He also had his cane with him, the one with the bird handle that you had once said you liked before. The one detail you thought was odd was the fact that he held the item with his right hand, as opposed to his left. Due to the weakness in the arm, he usually kept it close to his side in order to keep from hurting himself. It was only until he pulled a pocket watch from his vest with his dominant arm that you understood the change.

You walked towards him, until your approaching figure finally drew his attention. With a shy smile, she greeted the man. "I hope I'm not too late."

He shook his head, giving you a warm look. "Right on time."

He seemed rested now, compared to earlier, no longer wearing the dark circles that had plagued him for the last couple of days. You felt happy, knowing that he must have taken a break from the day as well.

"I apologize for sending Cyrus and Stevie to you without warning, I thought it'd be best if you didn't travel alone." He explained, before quickly looking over you. "You look beautiful tonight, (Y/n)."

"Thank you, Laszlo." You replied, blushing, while clasping your hands together nervously. "Though, you didn't have to go through all the trouble."

"It was no trouble at all. Stevie, in particular, seemed more than willing."

When the crowd of people began to move into the auditorium, you joined Laszlo as he led you up the stairs, towards the direction of the private box seats. You were a bit surprised to see this, given that he had gotten the tickets on such short notice. As you entered the box, you each took a seat next to each other, with you seated in your usual spot on his left. The opera you were watching was Aida, a story about an Ethiopian princess of the same name who was held captive in Egypt, and fell in love with an Egyptian general, Radames, and he with her, despite being promised to the Egyptian princess. As the show began, Laszlo quickly explained to you that the opera had been made by Antonio Ghislanzoni and Giuseppe Verdi, and had premiered December 24th, 1871. You chuckled, mostly to yourself, as you knew he'd be listing off little facts like this throughout the night.

As the show went on, you slowly realized a running theme in the show, in relating to it's star characters. Love & Hate. You found it a bit ironic, given the circumstances. In the first act, Aida, the main character, loves her country deeply but has hate for the Egyptians who have taken her and her people captive. Including Radames, as he continues to fight against her country. Time passes in the story, and the two begin to fall for one another. You were impressed with how the performer playing Aida was able to portray the conflicting emotions of the character- with her love for her country and her love for Radames, as she begins to fall for the Egyptian general. 

One of the reasons that made Laszlo's company so enjoyable was his ability to talk during a show, without taking away or distracting you from the experience. Often times, he'd speak quietly, leaning slightly for you to hear him over the music. He'd go on to tell you the historical origins that the opera was based on, and you had a feeling he had studied the opera before coming here. It seemed nearly impossible for him to know so much, if that were not the case. However, once the music began and each new song was sung, Laszlo's words would fall silent as all his focus was placed on the stage. Occasionally, his hand would twitch in the edge of you vision, pulling away your focus to the watch as his fingers shot up and down in the air, as though he were trying to play something.

Act Two played out similarly to the first, but showed how Radames fights with his own loyalties. By the end, the Egyptian general asked for the Pharaoh to release Aida and her people, but the Pharaoh would only accept if the general agrees to marry his daughter. Once the woman on stage stopped singing, the curtains closed and lights flickered back on. Already, some of the crowd had begun to leave the auditorium, in order to socialize with the other members of New York's society.

The two of you join them, going out into the crowded halls and lobby in order to celebrate your evening. Drinking champagne, you exclaimed your love for the story so far, as well as the performer's work. Laszlo agreed, complimenting the orchestra as well, before listening to your thoughts on the characters, occasionally interjecting how it's history was exaggerated for the sake of entertainment. Truly, you felt content in this moment, sharing your same passions with the alienist, while being able to give each other new thoughts and opinions. 

You were both finishing up your drinks, when your name had been called from some far off part of the room. Turning, you were shocked to see none other than Louis Arnett for the second time today. The man came over to you, dressed to the nines.

"Mr. Arnett, what a surprise to see you." You greeted, politely. "I thought I recalled you saying you weren't fond of the opera?"

"I've been known to come on the rare occasion." He replied. "It's a pleasure to see you, my dear. Lovely, as always. I also seem to recall the fact that I said you could call me Louis."

Kindly, you shook your head in denial. "I apologize, Mr. Arnett, but I highly doubt that'd be appropriate."

Before, you may have brushed off the endearments, but now they were beginning to irritate you. Especially with Laszlo present. Turning your head, you looked at Laszlo, who's warm smile had returned to his usual subdued expression.

"Mr. Arnett, I must introduce you to Dr. Kreizler!" You said, steering the conversation away from you. Laszlo gave you a confused expression, before you quickly explained: "Mr. Arnett was kind enough to open his home to me for such a low price, when I first moved here. He'll stop by on occasion."

Laszlo smiled, giving Arnett a nod, before placing his cane back into his right hand. With his left, he shook your landlord's hand, introducing himself.

"Ah, the alienist." Arnett hummed. "Tell me, Kreizler, do you always take your assistants with you to the opera? One might think you're trying to keep (Y/n) all to yourself!"

"Mr. Arnett, please." You hissed out, appalled.

Arnett chuckled, but you found nothing about his words humorous. Not only were they rude, given the circumstance, but the implication alone was entirely inappropriate. You also despised how he had spoken as if you weren't right there in front of him. Laszlo was clearly uncomfortable with the man's words, but tried his best to hide it.

The alienist merely sighed. "While it's true, Ms. (L/n) does work with me, It's been a pleasure to enjoy her company. Though she does assist me with my work at the Institute, I'm honored to consider her a close colleague and friend."

The last word was barely more than a small whisper, yet Arnett seemed to catch it. The older man nodded in understanding, before looking to you.

"I understand entirely. I don't blame you for wanting to spend more time with her, especially way from those horrible murders."

You blushed, stiffening slightly at the mentioned case. "Mr. Arnett, I'm afraid the purpose of our outing was to get away from the investigation. I'd highly appreciate it if we could enjoy our night in peace."

"Ah," He cleared his throat, embarrassed at your reaction. His hand went up to smooth out his tie, his thumb brushing over the lily pin. "I apologize. Of course you wouldn't wish to speak of it here. " Something in the distance seemed to catch the older man's eye, drawing his attention. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going."

You found yourself stunned at his erratic behavior, as he moved away back into the crowd. Once out of earshot, you let out a heavy sigh, turning to Laszlo with an apologetic look.

"I must apologize for Mr. Arnett. He has a tendency to overstep in conversations. I hope he didn't offend you too greatly."

Kreizler's brown eyes had followed Arnett, before finally looking back to you. While his smile hadn't returned, the warm look he gave you had. "John has, on occasion, accused me of doing the same. I suppose its only right that I should have to experience the same hardships I deal to others."

With that, the crowd was then directed back into the auditorium, as intermission drew to a close. To your surprise, Laszlo had offered you his arm, as you both returned to the private section. As the curtains rose and the next act began, you found yourself thinking about Mr. Arnett's strange behavior and how he'd spoken with Laszlo. You could understand if the man didn't like the alienist, given that Dr. Kreizler didn't have the best reputation among most of New York. Still, you weren't prepared for how casually he had disrespected him and spoke about you as though you were merely there to entertain them. Your chest felt warm, as you recalled how kindly Laszlo had spoken about you, complimenting your company. However, the way his voice has weakened upon calling you a friend had stirred all your anxieties back to the surface.

As the first song began, you looked to Laszlo, admiring him as he watched the show. Did he truly see you as a friend? Or was his hesitation an indicator of something more?

The third act began, with the story immediately picking up where it left off. Aida and her lover, Radames, perform in a song, where the characters are lamenting their forbidden and doomed romance. Once the song ends, Aida then began to plead with the gods, praying that they take pity on her people and the two lovers. In such dark times, as the one you live in now, you felt as though you would've done the same, had you believed in such a God. 

With the song at an end, you had expected Laszlo to then make another small comment about the show. However, when his gaze remained focused on the stage, you found yourself a little disappointed. It wasn't until you felt a warm brush against your hand, that your attention switched. It was brief, just for a moment, but Laszlo's left hand had touched yours, yet his eyes remained in place. Somehow, it seemed as though he hadn't noticed. Or if he had, he didn't mind. You blinked, clearing your throat silently, before looking back to the stage. The next song began, and followed the story with interest, wondering what would come of the two main characters, and the enslaved people of Ethiopia. 

Once again, you felt his hand against your own. There was no doubt now. Without moving you head, your eyes went back to his hand, a finger draped over your own. Slowly, you moved your hand into his, your palm covering over his own. Your heart raced, and the room felt significantly warmer. You began to doubt yourself, cursing whatever god there was for your foolish actions. But it all stopped, as his fingers wrapped into your own. You felt your breath hitch, but fell into a comfortable silence, watching the opera with a racing heart. As the song came to an end, you weren't sure if you welcomed it's conclusion or mourned it.

Laszlo turned, facing you. Even with the dim lights of the theater, you could make out the pink color of his cheeks and neck, as he continued to stare at you. His eyes held the same intensity as the day before, but that vacant expression was gone, replaced with something much softer. A binding energy trapped you in place, unable to look away. Even as the music began, signalling the next song, the doctor did not break his stare. Instead, his gaze slowly traced over you, a soft caress.

It wasn't until the music softened, transitioning from a loud crescendo to a soft steady melody, that you heard him whisper your name, as if asking something. You responded with his own.

You didn’t know who let go of the other’s hand, but it didn’t matter. Kreizler’s hand slowly reached up to you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek, as he pushed back a small section of your hair behind your ear, before finding it's destination against your jaw. He was hesitant to lean into you, not wishing to overstep your boundaries. It until you matched his actions, did the space between you disappear.

It was a small, innocent kiss. Even as you broke away, you felt the soft gentle buzzing on your lips. Your noses brushing, you looked up at him, staring into those brown eyes you've grown to love. You only broke the stare to lean in again, chasing the feeling of his lips on your own once more. You hardly cared where you were at the moment, as you lifted a hand to place over his own. You kissed him gently, not wanting to ruin this moment, as you lightly parted your lips for him. The hand on your jaw fell, finding it's place back against your neck, making you gasp. He seemed to grow more bold, matching your desperate enthusiasm. His fingers then dug down, not harshly but just enough to add pressure. The sensation was enough to send a sudden jolt of heat through you, making a small instinctive whine fall from you.

Suddenly, he broke away from you, a strange glint in his eye. As you caught your breath, you couldn't quite tell if his expression was one of excitement or fear. Before you could even ask what was wrong, the doctor got up from his seat, moving to leave the small theater box, not even stopping to take his walking cane. The light happiness in your chest died as quickly as it was born, and all that was left was the sinking feeling of fear and confusion. You then followed, doing the same, as the same nagging question played over in your mind. Had you done something wrong?

Tears threatened to form, but you fought to keep them down. At least until you had an explanation for Laszlo's actions. You found him just outside, in the empty halls of the theater. As you approached, he looked back at you, a troubled expression on his face. Your heart broke at the sight.

"Laszlo, I.. If I've done something wrong I sincerely apologize. I.. I'm sorry-"

Cutting me off, his head shot up, as if stunned. "You've done nothing of the sort!"

"Then why are you troubled?" You stepped forwards, searching for answer. "If I am not at fault, then you must tell me what it is I have done that has made you react in such a way."

"I just...I don't wish to see you get hurt. By being close to me." Laszlo looked conflicted, pausing as he tried to form his thoughts. His eyes looked to the ground, as he sighed. "By me."

The phantom hold on your neck returned, as you noticed the look of fear in his eyes. This man, who has trouble follow him wherever he goes, seemed haunted by something. You bit your lip.

"I've already forgiven you for you previous actions, as I know they were not entirely your own in that moment." You took a deep breath in order to keep your voice from failing you. "And even if they were, I trust you enough to know that you'd never hurt me, Laszlo."

"And if I wanted to?" He spat it out, quickly. Though the words didn't seem directed towards you, rather.. himself.

You blinked, a blush rushing to your face once more, as you were taken aback. Gathering yourself, you reached for his hand once more, silently. Lifting it gently, you gave a soft squeeze, a comforting gesture. His eyes met your own again.

"I'll trust you even then." You replied, feeling genuine in your response.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he looked down at you. He squeezed you hand, holding it in a grasp that was almost tight. A warning. Yet you stayed right there, watching as his eyes fell to your lips.

He pulled you forward, against him, as his lips met your own again. Unlike before, this wasn't so sweet and gentle as it had once been. No, now that underlying desperation, that need, broke to the surface as his teeth pulled on the soft subtle skin on your mouth, almost forcing you to open your lips for him, hadn't you not already been willing to. His weaker right arm found a place against your waist, as his left found the back of your neck, a strong hold keeping you there.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden forwardness of the typically reserved man. Your hands fell against his suit, finding a hold on the vest beneath his suit jacket. One of your hand slowly traced a path, running against the hairs behind his ear, as you gently pulled against them. The action sent a groan from Laszlo's throat, an unfamiliar experience for you, as you felt his voice against your skin. And Oh, how you craved more, smiling at how you had earned such a reaction. In response, you felt a quick nip at your bottom lip, a small jolt of pain coming from it, before his tongue ran along the same area. At the same time, the hand around your neck squeezed down. A thrilling chill passed through your entire being, finding it's destination just below your stomach. His lips changed direction, trailing a path from your lips to your jawline. You moaned, quietly, just enough for the alienist to hear.

"Laszlo."

Lust wasn't a look you were a stranger to, but seeing it overtake every aspect of Laszlo's appearance as he looked down at you definitely was. And you had no doubts that you looked the same. He pulled away from his advances, hesitating for a moment, blinking away the haze in his eyes. You leaned up, pressing a kiss against his cheek, as his left hand came down to your waist. As you silently stared at each other, you heard the volume of the opera's music return, reminding you of your surroundings. As much as you wished to continue, you knew you couldn't. Fortunately, it seemed Laszlo had come to the same conclusion, leaning back as he smiled again.

"It would be best if we return, before we are found in such a state..." He sighed, almost sadly.

He was right of course. If anyone had gone out into the halls at that moment, the mere sight of your disheveled states would be enough to cause a scandal, something neither of you wanted for the other. You looked away, nodding in agreement as you blushed, bashfully. As if you hadn't just clung to him, wishing that he'd continue. You returned to your seats, the two of you smooth out your clothes, erasing as much evidence to your actions as you could. Once you returned, Laszlo once again placed his hand against yours, drawing gentle circles against the back of your hand throughout the rest of the show. Permanent smile crept to your face.

The opera ended, with Aida and Radames dying in each other's arms. A tragic love story, doomed to fail from the start. But then again, did it truly fail? After all, Aida's people had escaped captivity and she had found her last moments with the man she loved. Perhaps if you hadn't missed part of the story you would've come to a suitable answer. You didn't regret missing it though, finding comfort in a far more enjoyable feeling in whatever it was that was between you and the alienist by your side.

You left the theater, with your arm wrapped around his own, sharing electric glances and soft touches. Once outside, you saw the familiar faces of Stevie and Cyrus, who apparently had been waiting to escort you back. Laszlo lead you to the carriage, opening the door for you. He took your hand, helping you step into the vehicle, before quickly joining you inside. Once settled, you met his gaze once more.

He smiled, warmly. "I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight. John has told me that the opera can be rather dull, at times.."

You blinked, bewildered. Surely, he was joking. You couldn't help but laugh, as you gave him a strange stare. "You're the alienist, Dr. Kreizler. What would you believe?"

Laszlo chuckled in response, taking your joke as a good sign. Lifting his cane, he tapped the roof of the carriage twice, signalling Stevie to start our journey. Your ride home had been much calmer than earlier, and you enjoyed the comfortable silence that fell over the two of you. However, as you neared your home, you sensed that Laszlo had something to say. 

"I'm sorry if my reaction startled you, that hadn't been my intention. The troubled minds of other have always been something that intrigued me, yet when faced with it myself, I find myself at a loss." He said quietly. "I meant it when I said you could get hurt, being close to me. Someone I held dear was taken from me, and I still fear that the same fate may reach you, the way it did her..."

He spoke as though a ghost hovered over his shoulder, a new level of vulnerability you'd never seen before. You realized that perhaps this is what John meant when he said Laszlo had been hurt the most by the last investigation. 

"I understand," You looked up, reading his expression as you spoke. "But you shouldn't blame yourself for the past. If you truly cared for her and could have changed whatever happened, I know you would have. You cannot punish yourself for something you could not control. If you worry for me, for whatever may come, I know you will work to keep the same from happening."

Laszlo stared at you, a sad smile playing over his face, as he mulled over your words. Once more the silence fell over you. It was only a few minutes more, when you reached your home.

As you glanced out the window, you paused. "Thank you, Laszlo. I had a lovely time, enjoying your company."

"Perhaps we should go to the opera again?" He suggested, hopeful.

"I.." You blushed for what felt like the hundredth time at this point. "I didn't wish to assume."

"Never, kedvesem." He replied, speaking a Hungarian word you hadn't learned yet. But it didn't take much to know that it was an endearment of some sort. "Though, perhaps we should save Delmonico's for the next trip to the opera."

You heart leapt at the notion, sending a rush through you. You gave your farewell, before stepping out of the carriage. Quickly, you did the same for Stevie and Cyrus, once again thanking them for their services for the night. As you watched the carriage disappear into the night, you felt as though you could die from happiness. Stepping into your home, the door being left unlocked, you gave a sigh of relief. The night had been a success and so much more.

You dragged yourself into your private room, tired after the long night.

 And in your distracted state, you hardly noticed the small bouquet of roses on your pillow.

[noszkass]

ashley tempest winthrope.

thirty six. defense attorney. jai courtney.

“You're supposed to grow out of your horridness, aren't you? I don't think I ever grew out of mine. Sometimes I think it's still inside me, like something nasty I swallowed, that got stuck...”

content warning: mentions toxic, co-dependent relationships; abuse; death of a peer/family member (via murder).

dominant traits. logical, charismatic, gentleman, stoic, focused, patient, selectively affectionate, charming, observant, cautious, possessive, unpredictable, self-preserving, forceful, obsessive, demanding, melancholic, aggressive, irritable, distrusting, unrelenting, loyal, easily jealous, less hair-trigger more berserk button, no-nonsense, quick thinking, dishonest.

fictional parallels. elijah mikaelson (the originals); geralt of rivia (the witcher); henry winter (the secret history); pope cody (animal kingdom); richie gecko (fdtd the series).

○ born into the winthorpe family; known for their successful generational family law practice, as councilmen from neighboring townships, and good for nothin' criminals who latched onto the teat of a community that's long-since given up on them like leaches─depending on what side of miriam's well it is you live in. ashley's particular branch is the former. estate house in rosebush hill drive, debutant turned matron belle mother who just can't seem to find her way around or out of other people's business (including, if not almost invariably, that of all three of her children), and a certain amount of respectability he was brought up to live by.

○ on the surface ashley winthorpe is a deliciously handsome man. wealthy and put together. takes pride in his appearance and family name. he's also well-mannered and polite, and thoughtful in such infinitesimal ways that you never really think much of until after the fact. and there is something so very not right about him. he has a kind smile that never quite reaches the edges of his eyes and though it doesn't necessarily look disingenuous, there's something about it that doesn't exactly leave you with a sense of ease. like an unfamiliar gesture that's been practiced over and over, so many times that it's lost meaning. like it takes the muscles in his face a moment to pull before they settle in the correct spots. he'll have a conversation with you and while at times it seems he's looking right through you, others will have his attention so intensely undivided it feels as if you've been bared naked and left in a cold room. like you've just been caught lying about something and he knows. somehow, he's known all along. because he listens intently when you speak to him and you suspect somehow he never forgets a single thing he's heard.

○ there's no mistaking his booming voice, jarring, even at a whisper sending shockwaves through your core that has you on high alert. even when it's soft and lulling (in an attempt to offer comfort or catching him melt into the woman he's declared the love of his goddamn life from the corner of your eye through the crack in his office door), there's something threatening that looms. less like hard blunt force and more like a living, breathing fog that blankets you with strong arms, settles deep into your gut, coils itself around your innards, and wrings you dry. the confusing part? you know, without a doubt, he would protect you with no hesitation and ask for nothing in return. and, most of the time, you'd be right. because ashley winthorpe is a good man. no matter how your instincts thrash, screaming at you otherwise.

plot hooks.

i apologize, some of these are all very specific to a singular plot and i could've just included them in a legit request 😬🙃

○ sandbox love never dies. a very specific and imperfect friend group cast in the roles of bastard, bleeding heart, damaged, golden, grim, ingénue, temptress, and wild card. they've been together since any of them can remember. spent their whole lives dreaming about trying to get out of miriam's well, but instead only found tragedies that bind them to each other. tragedies, usually, of their own making. you'll be able to read a little more about these characters in the sandbox love request, which i promise is coming!! there is a doc in the works with more information + a plot server, so expect to be part of those things if you take one of these babes!

○ his secretary. in the past he's helped her out with something legally and she's kind of in his debt, though he insists time and time again she owes him nothing of the sort. i figured it'd be something along the lines of strong holding an ex-boyfriend or husband who wouldn't leave her alone (making her miserable, or something like refusing to pay child support he'd been ordered to pay, dragging her name through the mud, etc. general nuisances to nip in the bud/bad behavior in need of correcting before they became worse as they usually do. you get the idea), because that's notoriously right up his alley. likely using non-legal means to get there; intimidation is sort of his thing. and while he may not be the type of boss or co-worker who meets you for drinks after you clock out, he does have an affection for every single one of his employees and seeing as how she works with him the most, she'd be near the top of that list. maybe she was intimidated by him in the beginning and now she knows he's not everything he appears to be. and they have an understanding.

○ the weight of his guilt. [cw: murder. this will come much later in the plot!] the winthorpes are a family on two very extremes of a type of people. [the bastard] is his cousin on his father's side, a wayward little sister who got knocked up by someone unbefitting of the family and then marrying someone worse by their standards when the father got himself put away over an affair or something just as unbecoming. ashley was always raised closely with [the bastard], his father's hope to sway the boy of many wasted talents to the right side of the family, to make something of himself. but he's a product of his lineage. and only ever finds situations for ash to get him out of. eventually, [the bastard] who he will murder, cold and bloody and bury at the base of an old oak tree will disappear. and ashley's guilt will cause him to reach out. as far as anyone knew, they were the best of friends. always together (even if that relationship was practically handwrought by his father, and he had little-to-no patience for his cousin's antics). it'll be only natural that he come by every now and again to check on them, show care, help fix up things around the house that [the bastard] would have if he were still around. because it'll ultimately be ash's fault he's gone. partially. [the bastard] will deserve what he gets and no one who'll know will be able to convince him anything otherwise, but his family didn't deserve the fallout that came after. maybe a parent or sibling or someone [the bastard] claimed to love while making his way through the female population of miriam's well.

○ the other two winthrope children. they're expected to be upstanding citizens to combat the trash reputation the other winthrope side creates. father is one of a long line of lawyers (with a main practice just outside of town, ashley's secondary office in mw because he prefers it here) and mother is a homemaker whose extracurriculars might as well be solid, paying jobs. they have three children together; ashley (being the oldest son), a daughter magnolia (and the only girl -- taken by sage), and the youngest son, credence (who is very likely expected to join the family business, like ashley). i don't expect anyone to make the parents even though that would be incredible? but they all still have rooms at their home in rosebush hill drive to use at their leisure. it wouldn't at all be out of the question that some of the children still live there -- especially the daughter if she's unwed. they're very old fashioned southern that way. they do these big family events where everyone is expected to participate, go on vacations and holidays together, and church on sundays regardless of your personal beliefs on the matter (that you had very well better keep to yourself if they don't align, ashley has learned). their grandfather also lives in the family house after losing grandma a few years back.

[sp00kworm]

2388 - Start Log

Pairings: None

Warnings: Murder, Animal Death, Child Death.

---

A/N: This is based on some very vague headcanons I have about Revenant’s past and I wanted to write in a new kind of style. 

---

Revenant held the small recording in his hand, his metal fingers stretching at the alloy as he looked at the unmarked, thin chip. It was black and sleek, tiny in the scale of things, but somehow untouched out on that dust bowl planet. His burning orange eyes shifted to focus on it again before he stood from the chair and slammed open the door to the lounge room, leaving with a grumble towards Elliott who was on his way in. The man jumped out of his way with a high-pitched screech and watched him stalk down the hall. Revenant made sure to hunch his plated shoulders before he climbed the stairs and stalked down the hallways of the dorm area, making sure that none of the others were following him before he opened his room and closed the door. It was dark and dusty, but the Simulacrum was quick to pull open his drawers to find the one item he really wanted. The chip reader. He pulled the old technology from the drawer and opened the small insertion plate with a claw. The hole cover popped open and he placed the chip inside and flicked the holoscreen display up. The blue light was dull with age, but it flickered to life before displaying a blurry image and the option to play.

 In front of him sat himself. He had relatively short, blond hair pulled back with a fine toothed, ivory comb he remembered buying from a group of hunters. He reached to his chest pockets subconsciously. He always kept it in his breast pocket. With a growl he swiped at the play button and heard it click. For a moment it was quiet as the ghost of himself looked to the high window in the metal wall. He rolled his blue eyes and leaned back in the chair as the sound of a giant, heavy loader holo-vehicle roared. The engines seared the microphone for a moment before the assassin sighed and reached to undo another button of his shirt. There was a discarded head scarf and cloak on the chair behind him as he played with a knife along his fingers. The audio crackled and popped before synching properly and pausing. Revenant hit play again when it was finished and listened.

“Start Log. 2388. It’s been twenty-eight hours since I eliminated the target and counting. I’m in a safe house by the delivery routes back into the city. Shit hole of a back water place. Its barely a city, more of a god forsaken dustbowl. A place like this for a mafia causing so much trouble.�� The blond man scoffed at the screen before the sound of a pistol chamber snapping came through the static. He raised the pistol before unscrewing the silencer and pulling the magazine free with a practiced movement, “One bullet to the back of the skull. Executioner style. I capped him in front of his latest little conquest. She screamed a lot. I got blood on my boot covers. They’re camel skin. I better get reimbursed for those.” He took apart the gun with practiced ease, the pieces set along the table in a neat, perfect line, from start to finish, “Anyway. Targets dead and I’m waiting for transport back. Hammond have left me high and dry again, for the third time this year. I wonder what I could do to get some more special treatment from them.” Kaleb grinned with white, perfect teeth, his cheek bones cutting an impressive figure before he reached to touch the scruff along his jaw. He scoffed at it and reached into his waistcoat for a long, thin shaving blade.

 The blade slid open and was brandished like a weapon, the metal flashing before he raised it to his cheeks and dragged it over the new stubble, brushing it away onto a small tissue he also had, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to talk around the blade. Revenant reached for his face and ran his fingers over the scratches in his metal cheek bones. He relapsed often into his human habits, not that he would ever admit it.

“I would get it if these guys were some big-league assholes, but they’re barely an issue. I’ve seen worse, but I suppose this is what stealing weapons will get you out here. The Outlands have never been fuckin’ kind.” He threw the slip blade on the table in front of the camera, “I’d know that better than most.” Kaleb looked the camera in the lens, and Revenant wondered if he had been speaking to someone in that moment as his lips twisted in contemplation, “Fuck it. It’s not like anyone will ever find this.” He leaned back in his seat and started to pick up each piece of the pistol, looking them over before he screwed them back together in slow, precise movements of his wrist

“The Outlands is a shit hole. It always has been since Mister Hammond decided to colonize it. Sand, shit and people killing each other. Its always been the same, despite what they all say. Murder, homicide and genocide.” He paused putting together the gun in order to open a small satchel, and pulled free a packet of tobacco and rollers, Kaleb continued to talk as he took the leaves and placed them into a white paper, “Even this shit was fought over. Hybrid tobacco with no tar. Cartels killed villages over it.” The paper crinkled quietly as he put the filter in and rolled it up, tapping the end against the table before he snapped open a metal lighter and lit it, puffing for a moment before he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, “The Outlands are a cess pit, that’s what I’m saying.”

 His old self smoked for a while before he held the cigarette in his lips and squinted, getting back to work on fixing the last pieces of the pistol back together with a little grease from another bottle from the satchel, “But its where literally everyone was born now. Earth’s been dead for a long, long time. Including, yes you might have guessed, me.” Kaleb span his pistol and cocked the chamber before he slid the magazine in again and pulled a bullet up into the chamber, “I was born to some power plant family, or so the Matron said. Six months old and they threw me on the doorstep before the plant went bust and blew. I’m not surprised somehow, but the orphanage wasn’t derelict. It was funded for by Hammond. They took kids into the programs there. I wasn’t an exception. I was scouted at fifteen into the special ops program.” A haunting smile spread across his face, “I killed a captain at fourteen, that’s what got me enlisted. It got better though, guns were much easier to use than knives from the kitchen and Matron never did like me taking knives and running with ‘em.” He took his cigarette from his mouth and flicked ash off the end, “Kaleb where has the neighbours dog gone?!” He screeched, “Always nag, nag, nag that woman.” He grumbled as he took another drag, “She probably meant well in the end. Too bad what happened to her as well. I put a pillow over her face when I got enlisted. No survivors allowed. The rest died in the fire.”

 The ash was building up in the clear glass ash tray now, “The Matron wanted me to go anyway, its not like she ever loved us or any of that stupid holo-film shit.” He scoffed and played with his cigarette end, “I used to like animals…well, like was a strong word. I used to test them. There was a hundred stray dogs near us, so I used to take pieces of my dinner and see which would come and take it from me. Whichever dog came close, if they could do a trick, then I gave it ‘em. If they followed me, well I used to like knives, you can guess the rest. They’re easy to trick. Cats though, cats were much better fun. I could never get one to come near me. It’s like they knew I had a knife somehow. One came close once, but it got away, screaming, and biting me before it got up a tree. It stayed there the whole day sleeping until I got bored. I didn’t see it again, but I started taking rats and mice from the kitchen for them. They liked the chase I think, just like I did…Or maybe they just liked me killing the dogs, huh?” He let out a long, raspy, dark chuckle before he stubbed out his cigarette and looked at the lens again, “Why the fuck am I spilling my guts to a recording? I’ll be dead if anyone finds this…well, maybe I just want that challenge.”

 His finger appeared before he chuckled again and pushed his fingers together, “The days at the academy were boring in comparison. I wasn’t allowed out of the facility. I wasn’t allowed knives. I wasn’t allowed to do anything that I wanted. I choked a boy to death on the mat. The prick decided I was a ‘country bumpkin’, so I decided he wasn’t worth the air he breathed. He was purple when they found him. I was careful, I bleach wiped his neck and my hands. They never knew it was me, but I got harsher training for it. They suspected it was me, but there was no evidence.” Kaleb rolled another cigarette before he rummaged for a can in his bag. He pulled out an all-in-one shake from the pack and drank it down without so much as a minor twitch. Revenant remembered them. They tasted like milk and iron, “Otherwise. I do this because I’m good at it. I always have been good at it. Best in the business. I do the dirty jobs that others won’t because of morals.” He reached for the button, “And that’s about it. End log.” The recording ended as he blew more smoke out of the side of his mouth.

 Revenant looked at the black screen for a moment, orange and black optics spinning to adjust, magnifying in and out before he snapped open the port again and tore the chip free, anger burning his chest. He growled and crushed the chip between two clawed fingers. His processors saved the data and he sat back on a chair in order to move and hide the data from those responsible for uploading him. He didn’t need anyone knowing these things. The chip sat in his palm in tiny, crushed pieces of plastic and metal.

“The past is dead.” He muttered before he unlocked the window and threw the pieces out of it, “Its best it stayed buried.” Revenant growled again before he moved to his charging port and slid the wire up into his chasis.

[theoppositeofprofound]

My dark horse submission for “best Untamed character to have as a sugar parent” is Qin Su. Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are fine runners-up but their emotional involvement with revenge-happy little men really diminishes the ROI. Jin Guangyao might actually murder Lan Xichen’s SO if he suspected them of malfeasance/not being good enough. Nie Huaisang seems a little more forgiving but it’s still too much pressure and the terminal anger issues are a problem. But Qin Su? Girls, we could skate on heteronormative expectations right into Qin Su’s bedroom. Everyone else, you’ll have to work a little harder but the reputation power of a well-respected matron is pretty legit. Just become a court astronomer or a handmaiden or something. You know she’s in a dead marriage, you know her husband wouldn’t mind you giving her the human contact he can’t, provided you keep it on the downlow. Less pressure on him to be marital with his sister, more leeway for you to be mushy. Also the Jin are loaded. This would be a luxurious life of hair brushing and emotional support.

Potential downsides

You’d definitely get attached to her doomed baby

The family drama can’t end well

For the years prior to Jin Guangshan’s death you’re living with a creep; probably best to come in after he’s gone

On a similar note, if you don’t get your timelines right Xue Yang might live in the same house as you, never good

Still, I think the advantages of sitting around in a cushy palace with a very sweet woman far outweigh the risks and put Qin Su above other potential datees. I mean Lan Xichen lives with the Lan! Nie Mingjue is a jock! Intolerable.

[thephantomcasebook]

Matt’s “Reasonable” Downton Abbey Movie Sequel Pitch

Since I’ve been known to take extreme flights of fancy ... maybe wedding Downton Abbey continuity to Pulp and Classic Adventure stories in the past ... this time I’m gonna pitch something that is plausible on the Silver Screen.

The Summery:

Set in the Mid-1950′s. Lady Mary Talbot hosts a house party at Downton Abbey, like the old days, before the war. However - during the party - a maid is found dead. Miles from competent investigators, Edward Pelham enlists the help of his childhood hero and older cousin, the Earl of Grantham, George Crawley. Once a famed adventurer and war hero - no one has seen or heard from him since the war ended. He has chosen solitude and exile in the seclusion of Crawley House with his young son and his faithful butler Thomas Barrow. 

Together, with the help of old friends, the two cousins try to unveil the murderer that is on the loose in Downton Abbey looking to avenge an old sin from the past. 

PRINCIPLE RETURNING CAST: 

 Lady Mary, Lady Edith, and Tom Branson -  Michelle Dockery, Laura Carmichael, and Allen Leech 

Lady Rose Aldridge, “Dowager Countess of Sinderby” - Lily James 

Mrs. Lucy Branson - Tuppence Middleton 

Anna Bates - Joanne Froggett  

Thomas Barrow & Richard Ellis - Richard Collier & Max Brown

NEW PRINCIPLE CAST

Captain George “The Comet” Crawley, Earl of Grantham - Henry Cavil  

Crippled during battle while Storming an SS held Austrian Castle in May 1945, George Crawley chose seclusion rather than Downton Abbey. For the last ten years he has retreated from the world. Surrounded by Libraries of ancient texts and Medieval Chronicles - glass cases filled with trophies and artifacts from his adventures -  George broods darkly over the death of his men and a betrayal by the one he loved most in Matthew Crawley’s old chair by the fire..  

However, his young idealistic cousin rouses the once heroic and valiant adventurer back to action with the encouragement of his son Jason Crawley and Thomas Barrow, who believe George has sat idle too long and must become the leader and man of action he once was.

“Well, well, well ... if it isn’t Captain George “The Comet” Crawley himself. The most Dangerous Man in the whole Empire, this one was ... Once. 

“Yes, I dare say, and how are you holding up these days, eh, Old Boy?!” 

“With a cane.” 

Ms. Sybil “Sybbie” Branson - Jessica De Gouw  

A Genius Mechanical Engineer, Sybbie was once the partner and companion of George Crawley on many adventure and stayed by his side throughout the war. However in 1943, during a mission with their SOE Commando Team in Greece, Sybbie Branson turned coat on the Allies and  was revealed to be a Nazi Agent ... Her betrayal caused the unintended death of John “Johnny” Bates Jr. 

Captured in Austrian Castle in May of 1945 at great cost in George’s blood and the lives of his men by her fanatical suitor and body guards, Sybbie was tried at Nuremberg for helping design super weapons for the Nazis. However, just before her execution, at the last moment, she was reprieved and recruited by “Operation Paper Clip” ... some believed sparing her life was the last thing George did before going into seclusion.

Ten years later, Ms. Sybil Darcy splits her time in Hollywood as an Oscar winning actress and a Southern California Military Base where she helps develop rockets for a fledgling American Space Program. It is only by chance that on another guilt ridden drinking binge that she awakens at the doors of Downton Abbey - her childhood home - where her International Playboy fiance was invited to Lady Mary’s House Party.

“When I’m in his arms all I can think of is home, and when I think of home all I can think of is you. I know what I’ve done is evil and can never be forgiven. And I don’t ask for it from you ... all I ask is that you wait for me ... please, don’t leave me here alone. I don’t remember what this world was like without you in it, And all I know is that I cannot live in such a world. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you, and I’ll never stop ... Never.”

Lady Marigold Fraser, “Countess of Tarahill” - Elizabeth Henstridge 

During the “Battle of Britain” and “The Blitz” Corporal Marigold Crawley served as a operator and airwoman in the RAF control room. When George and Sybbie’s squadron was sent to break the Siege of Malta and fight in the North Africa Campaign , Marigold would not be left behind. Thus, she resigned commission and became a War Corespondent for her Mamma and Aunt Laura at “The Sketch” - covering George and his men’s exploits from the ‘safety’ of Sybbie’s mechanic’s hanger. Later, during Sybbie’s arch betrayal, Marigold used her media and diplomatic pass as a Marquess’s step-daughter to rescue a hunted George with the help of local resistance. She went on to cover D-Day, Market Garden, and the Battle of the Bulge while attached to a much darker and violent George and his Commandos, 

Marigold was vaulted as a “Female Pioneer in Journalism”. But falling in Love with a Scottish Colonel in the British Airborne during Market Garden, she chose marriage rather than her career. But 10 years later the call of adventure is stirred in the societal matron’s blood once more upon her reunion with best friend George and a Mystery to solve.    

“Do you ever think of it, George?”

“The war?” 

“Would you think me terrible if I told you that I miss it?” 

“What particularly do you miss about the Ardennes or Arnhem Bridge?”

“It’s not the places, not the snowy woods all bundled tight together in our freezing foxhole under artillery fire, or escaping Holland on rubber rafts in the middle of the night ... I miss our men, I miss ... waking up in the morning and knowing that we were apart of something, that it was you and me, and the old chaps, against the world ... I miss being useful, George. I guess, I’d rather like to feel that way again.”  

Ms. Caroline Talbot - Daisy Ridley 

Beautiful, Spoiled, Clever, Selfish, and Effete, the co-heiress to “Branson & Talbot Motors” has spent her life attempting to get a rise out of her mother. As most desirable of debutantes and Crown Princess of British High Society, Caroline spends her days scheming and contriving against other society girls, of whom she loves to torment. Her nights in nightclubs spent drinking and dancing, waking up in different beds throughout the poshest London Houses. 

 She loathes her mother, and blames Henry’s death on George, whose Spitfire shot down the German Bomber that crashed into Henry and Bertie’s train during “The Battle of Britain”. With George and Sybbie having never gotten along with, or been able to stand, Henry - Caroline believes George plotted her father’s death.

However, her arrogance and anger is dropped only in the presence of her best and only true friend, her cousin Edward. The only person in her unhappy life of whom she knows she truly loves.

“JUST SAY IT, MAMMA! WHY CAN’T YOU SAY IT! Why can’t you just say you didn’t love him! I’m certainly not the first unloved child ever born to a widow looking for a cheap thrill! I guess I owe you enough thanks for at least marrying Daddy!”

“Oh, pipe down, you spoiled little bitch!” 

“Shut up, you Nazi whore! You two ran off to have your little adventures and you never stopped to think, just once, about me!” 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Here we are again! What could you possibly want more of?! Huh? You got everyone’s attention!” 

“George, leave it!.” 

“No, no more, mom! She got everything I didn’t! She got a mother and father, parents! You left me behind so that you and Henry could start your trendy new fashionable family! You took their side against me! You and Uncle Tom! Just so you can continue to play grab ass with your pathetic little trio! I spent years away from home, Christmases at Aunt Edith’s, all because Henry didn’t want me here! MY OWN HOUSE! And still, after all that, his brat wants more! So, what, Goddamnit!?  What do you want from me, Caroline!?” 

“YOU! I wanted my brother! I loved you and I needed you! And you left me with HER!

Lord Edward Robert Pelham, “Marquess of Hexham” - William Moseley

Upright and just minded, Lord Hexham grew up on the stories of adventure and mystery that his older cousins, George and Sybbie, were famous for. At the death of his father in the war, he looked up to his cousin George as a male role model. 

Thirteen years later, while on break from Oxford - he is not sure what to do with his life. Determined to save his beloved best friend Caroline from a nose dive of alcohol and sex turning into a death spiral, he finds himself at Downton Abbey - a guest of his Aunt Mary - when a murder takes place. But when the Killer leaves a message that it would only be the first. it seems everyone turns to him - as senior peer - for guidance. Unsure what to do, he goes to find his old mentor, George - who has much more experience in this kind of danger and mystery.  

“I don’t know, Marigold ... sometimes I think I’m the wrong man for this job.” 

“Nonsense. In fact, rising above the bias of an older sister and the person who helped raise you, I just happen to think you’re the perfect man for the job.”

“I feel ashamed sometimes. There are lads out there that don’t have two pounds in their hands. And here I am, a Marquess, leaving Oxford, to snuggle up to my big sister’s beast, because, I’m frustrated.”

“Well, they are fantastic breasts.” 

“I’m serious ... I just, I keep telling Caroline that there’s more in life. But I feel like it’s all just words. Neither Mummy nor Papa were ever so ambitious. And it’s not that I want more power, how could I? It’s just ... I feel like there’s something out there, waiting for me to get into its shouting distance.”

Jason Matthew Crawley, Lord of Downton - Unknown (I don’t know child actors)

Born in 1944 to an unknown mother of whom George refuses to speak of to anyone. Mary and the rest of the family were shocked and confused to find George return from the war hobbled on a cane and carrying a toddler that was unmistakably his son.  

Ten years later the blue eyed raven curled boy attends the local Downton school, but is often pursued by high ranking academies for his extremely high intellect. But George refuses to entertain sending him away. Spending most days with Mary,Tom, and Edith, the boy is famed around the county for his Holmesian deduction skills ... and aptitude for machinery - which his father refuses to allow him to pursue. Serving as his father and ‘Uncle Edward’s’ assistant while investigating the murder, they find him a much bigger help than they thought possible.

“You listen to me, Cowboy ... cause I’m only going to tell you once. You stay away from Sybbie, do you understand me?”

“I was just saying that she’s beautiful -” 

“Under no circumstance do you go near her or even speak to that woman.”

“But what does a movie star want with me?”

“This conversation is concluded, mind what I say.” 

“But, Pop ... wha -?”

“That’s an order, Cowboy.”

“Ye- yes, Sir.”

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 24: The Tale of the Three Miners

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 24/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Three+

Chapter Twenty-Five+ >>

There were entirely too many people on this staircase, and there was not a bloody thing Severus could do about it. The glare of the lobby lights assaulted his eyes after the dimness of the theatre, even as the din of the patrons released from the confines of their seats drove the pleasing strains of the music from his ears. The lofty ceiling, marble floors, and Classical design only served to amplify the noise to an uncomfortable degree, and he actually flinched when a doddering matron accidentally stumbled into him. It seemed that the entire population of Bucharest had chosen this particular Tuesday for their cultural enrichment. Every muscle in his body tensed tight as a bow-string as the crowd hemmed him in, all but suffocating him, and he fought the urge to Disapparate on the spot.

Somehow, he managed to descend the entirety of the staircase without either slipping on the slick red carpet or resorting to murder. However, gaining his footing on the ground floor did nothing to relieve his position of being one among many attempting to exit the building. One of his eyebrows twitched involuntarily as he attempted to cleave through the mass of humanity, but he was startled out of this unpleasant task by the feel of Miranda’s warm hand grasping his and slipping its fingers between his own.

“If you think this is bad, you should see the lobby at the Met in New York,” she said, smiling up at him as he risked being crushed in order to glance at her.

His head stopped spinning at her touch and he drew her closer to his side, replying, “I think I would rather not see that if it is all the same to you.”

“Just trying to put things in perspective for you.” She surveyed the crowd shrewdly and then glanced back at him, a playful challenge sparkling in her eyes. “If you think you can handle cutting through the crowd without trampling anybody, I think I can keep up.”

“Very well,” he agreed, his face relaxing despite his agitation. “But it will not be my fault if you are lost in the crush.

Somehow her laugh managed to float above the roar of the myriad conversations around them the way that the voices of the singers floated above the force of the orchestra, and the sound of it soothed the uncomfortably quick beat of his heart. He faced the river of people with renewed vigor and began to weave his way to the edge of it. Miranda’s light step kept time with his, and soon they burst out into the summer night, free and unfettered from all encumbrances save the glaring spotlight illuminating the facade of the opera house. He descended the stairs outside without slowing his pace, determined to escape from all annoyances, even this small one. The sudden change from the brightness of the stairs to the darkness beyond finally forced him to slow his stride as he hit the gravel walk below, and Miranda stumbled as her less-than-sensible shoes skidded in response to the impact. Fortunately for her ankles, his reflexes were still strung on a hair-trigger. His arm was around her waist in an instant, swinging her through the momentum of the stumble to rest flush against him, chest to chest. The night air mingled with her lavender scent, and he found that this, together with one of her smiles, was all that was required to restore his equilibrium.

They were far from alone, however, and he kept the gesture briefer than he might have otherwise liked it to be. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her down the footpath, away from the opera house and through the neatly manicured garden, with its sprays of flowers all trained into tame little spirals. By the time they reached the end of the plaza, the crowd had thinned enough for Miranda to risk using her wand to transfigure her shoes into flats more suited to the landscape. Taking this as indication that she wished to continue their walk, he led her out of the garden and into the dimly lit park beyond.

“Did you like it?” she asked, an undercurrent of excitement running through her voice.

“The crowd?” he replied, keeping his voice dry in order to tease her. “Not in the least.”

“No!” She swatted his arm playfully with her program. “The opera.”

“Ah, that.” They were far enough into the safety of the wooded landscape that the crowd was but a memory, and he slowed his pace at last as they crossed over a foot bridge just wide enough for the two of them “On the whole, I would say that it was not a complete waste of time.”

“Coming from you, that’s high praise. What was your favorite part—no, let me guess. Was it when Don Giovanni was finally pulled into Hell?”

“That was obviously the highlight of the performance. I would imagine that it required a great feat of ingenuity for the Muggles to create the effect of the netherworld breaking through the stage floor without any magic. One almost wonders if they did have a wizard or two secretly employed for the purpose.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to assume that every Muggle accomplishment was actually done by wizards.”

“Not all. But most.”

She swatted him again and he chuckled at her as they walked beneath the trees. Before them stood a high fence of woven wood covered with wild grapevines, and he led her through the open gate to a hidden paradise of moonflowers. The moonlight filtered through the foliage and glinted off her hair where it kissed the locks. She was dressed once again for a bacchanal, copper laurel bracelet winding coyly up her arm and all, and the garden seemed the perfect spot for such sport. Unlike the tamed garden near the opera house, here one half expected Pan to burst forth from the wilderness, playing his pipes and leading a band of dryads behind.

“Do you think Mozart was a squib?” she asked, letting go of his arm to examine a vine bearing superb white blossoms, wide as her hand.

“If he were, would that not be more proof that Muggles require magical help for their greatest accomplishments?” he countered as he ran his hands over her shoulders, savoring the feel of her flesh under his fingers.

“Not necessarily. It could mean that No-majs have more magic than we think they do. Rachel and I used to wonder if there are far more squibs than anyone knows about, and that they have more magic than we give them credit for. Maybe that magic comes out in ways like being brilliant at music, or art, or engineering, or really anything. Maybe everyone has some magic inside them, if you know where to look for it.”

“Merlin, woman, watch your tongue,” he said, mostly in jest. “That sort of revolutionary talk would not be tolerated in certain circles.”

“I can guess which circles those are. And Lucius Malfoy will tell you how likely it is that I’d watch my tongue if I were to land in one of them.”

“Spoken like a true Barbarian from the Colonies. I simply cannot take you anywhere.”

His lips found the back of her neck, and the sigh that his kiss drew from her convinced him that this was a better use for them at the moment than continuing to debate her wild ideas. It was so easy for him to coax more sighs from her with a well placed kiss, a well timed touch, and the sound of her pleasure had done much to drive the memories of that wretched summer underground—at least for the time being.

As his lips did their work, she soon lost interest in the flora and her hand drifted back that she might tangle her fingers in his hair.

“Shall we retire?” he murmured, when she was leaning hard against him.

“Must we?” she breathed.

He swallowed a groan at the thought of taking her here, but he was not so unrestrained that he would yield to the desire, however alone they appeared to be. “Decorum, my impatient Barbarian, decorum.”

“Oh, damn your decorum,” she purred, moving against him until the groan he was stifling broke free. “Someday I’m going to take you to my river back in Edgewood and have my way with you. You just wait and see.”

“If such a thing should come to pass, I will know I have gone completely mad,” he assured her, in a voice less steady than he meant it to be.

She gave a husky laugh. “Now that’s a challenge if ever I heard one. But I’ll go back to the hotel with you if you promise to eat when we get there.”

“I do believe that you wish to fatten me for slaughter. I’ve done nothing but eat, sleep, and ravish you since I arrived.” Not that he was complaining. He would never say it aloud, but the effect of this week on his sanity might be the saving of it.

“And it must be doing you good. You’ve got your fighting spirit back now. A few days ago you were like a ghost.”

He turned her in his arms as she said these words, and pressed her to his heart, kissing her with an emotion that he could not name, that was almost painful in its intensity.

“Very well,” he said when he released her mouth. “Come back with me now and I will allow you to do with me as you like.”

*****

Severus’s good mood lasted precisely long enough for the two of them to Apparate to the alley behind the Hotel Diana, cut through the surplus of patrons milling about in the gleaming lobby, and climb the stairs to their snug second floor retreat. He had even allowed Miranda to hold his hand—in public no less—his mind was so addled by his desire for her. But as he slid the key into the lock of number 214, a chill of warning shot up his spine, and he suddenly felt as wrecked and twitchy has he had when he’d arrived in Bucharest a few days before.

WHAT IS WRONG

Miranda tapped her question on the palm of his hand, but he shook his head, sliding his wand out of his sleeve and shoving her behind him. He heard her snort of frustration at being protected, and he knew she had her own wand at the ready, but he did not wait to hear any arguments from her. He flicked the key in the lock and kicked the door open, charging into the darkened room ready to murder whatever intruder had broken the wards he had set.

The room was empty.

Miranda flicked the electric lights on, and the two of them began searching for evidence in silence. Severus was systematically unpacking Miranda’s overstuffed bag, muttering darkly about her lack of organization when she found proof of the intrusion.

“Bingo,” she said, scooping up an unassuming pad of paper from underneath the telephone on the desk and tapping it with her wand. “Aparecium.” Her brow furrowed and she held the paper out to Severus. “You can’t read Romanian, can you?”

Severus dropped her bag and snatched the paper out of her hand. “It’s from Vasile. He was at the opera. He says he didn’t want to sneak up on us, but he wanted us to know that you should not go to the church on Thursday alone. Why? What haven’t you be telling me?”

“Nothing!” she protested. “I mean, I did tell you that the final task is on Thursday, right?”

“You did.”

“And I told you that I’ll be spelunking for water from an underground river, beneath the One Wood Church right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all I know. I expect it to be dull as dirt, but if Vasile wants you to come with me, you’d probably better. Especially if he thought it important enough to break into our hotel room to tell us.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don’t! You don’t like anything much. I’m going to call down and order some dinner.”

With that, she turned her attention to the telephone and was soon deep in a conversation with the maitre d’hotel about the night’s specials. Severus felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of him. While he was well aware that people found him abrasive, hearing the words he had used to describe his worm of a father applied to him by his own lover, however teasingly, was enough to send him into a tailspin of loathing. He tore Vasile’s missive from the notepad and folded it meticulously. After he had put it away in a pocket, he sat down on the edge of the bed and began repacking Miranda’s bag with deliberate care. His anger flailed out in all directions; at Vasile, at Miranda, at Albus, at the Dark Lord, at his father—but mostly—at himself.

“It’ll be up soon,” she said, sliding next to him and kicking off her shoes. “I ordered some mici and ciorbă de burtă, I hope that’s alright.”

“Being as I don’t like anything, why should it matter what you order?” he replied icily.

She eyed him shrewdly. “Are you doing that thing where you get angry because you’re worried?”

“I am a rational adult. I do not do things because of childish emotions.”

“I see.” She scooted across the bed so that she could kneel behind him, and began to rub his shoulders with her strong fingers, but he shook off her hands and stalked over to the closet to pour himself a glass of palinka, chilling the liquid with a wordless flick of his wand.

“You promised you’d do what I wanted tonight if I came back with you, remember?” she reminded him playfully.

“A foolish gesture made in the heat of passion. I shall be more careful in the future, I assure you,” he said bitingly, tossing back half of the glass in one motion.

“I predict you’ll be in a better mood after dinner.”

He turned his back to her to stare out the window overlooking the still-busy street below and muttered, “I will not.”

“Is there something you want to talk about?” she asked carefully.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Okay,” she said, sounding bewildered. “Fine.”

A knock at the door heralded dinner, and when the clerk was gone, Severus mechanically transfigured the desk into a decent table for dining. Miranda made one or two attempts at conversing about the opera and the weather, but Severus was too caught up in the malignancy of his thoughts to make a proper answer.

When dinner was over, Miranda cleared the dishes and set the trays in the hallway while Severus pulled a book out of his valise and made a show of reading it; although his eyes never moved beyond the first sentence. Miranda stood near the closed door for some time, watching him with her arms crossed, before finally breaking the awkward silence.

“Severus, did I say something that upset you?”

“I am not upset.”

“Yes, you obviously are. One minute you’re ready to fuck me until I can’t walk straight, and the next you’re sniping at me and giving me the cold shoulder. What happened?”

“Nothing that need concern you.”

“It sure as hell does concern me!” She strode across the room and snatched the book out of his hands. “If you’ve got a problem with me you could at least do me the decency of talking about it instead of sulking like a petulant child. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

He sneered at her and retrieved his book with a deliberately slow movement of his hand.

“Miranda, it is painfully clear to anyone who knows you that you are not a mind reader. Indeed, often you barely seem to think at all.”

“I know you’re an ass, but that’s way out of line.”

“I only speak the truth. Pity if it is too much for your delicate sensibilities.”

He snapped the book back open and she stared at him, her face flushed with anger. After a moment, she launched into a flurry of motion, swishing from room to room as she gathered her things and stuffed them into her bag.

“Thanks for the evening,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I hope you enjoy the rest of it alone.”

“Some quiet would be welcome after that disgusting fit of pique.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she spat in parting, swinging her bag violently over her shoulder and storming out the door without another word.

Severus read to the end of the page without comprehending a single word, and threw the book across the room savagely enough to leave a satisfying mark on the wall. The urge to go after her nearly overpowered him, but he choked it down with another glass of palinka. After all, what would he say if caught her? I do beg your pardon, darling, but you’ve reminded me that I’m exactly like my worthless father and so I thought it best to punish you for your impertinence. Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think?

No. That would never do. He retrieved his book with a silent accioand sat back down with the palinka bottle close at hand to drink and be miserable.

She was better off without him, anyway.

*****

On Thursday morning Severus tromped up the hill towards the One Wood Church, once again a slave to his unfortunately uncompromising sense of duty. He’d spent the day before nursing a ghastly hangover (Merlin help him if he ever so much as looked at a glass of palinka again) and a bruised ego. In the afternoon he had started a letter of explanation (not apology) more than once, but he’d been unable to put any of his mangled thoughts into words. He’d burnt the lot of them and spent the rest of the evening wandering the streets of Bucharest and feeling like an idiot—a feeling that, along with the headache, had not yet dispersed. He would have gone back to Hogwarts, but for this damned task of Miranda’s. Even though he hadn’t actually said he would accompany her in so many words, he felt honor-bound to do so.

The drab, hexagonal building squatted in underwhelming solitude at the top of the lonely hill, surrounded by whitewashed grave-markers and a grossly unkempt garden. Steely grey clouds covered the sky, threatening a summer storm, and Severus grimaced as his mind started making a list of all the possible ways this morning’s events could go wrong. Even if they successfully completed the task, he would be returning to Hogwarts that night--three days earlier than planned--alone, hated, and in a more wretched mood than he’d been in before he’d taken this damned trip in the first place.

When he gained the top of the hill, he glanced reflexively over his shoulder and saw Miranda making her way up the cobblestone walk towards him. She started in surprise, but continued her progress, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” she asked coldly as she reached him.

“Perhaps you have forgotten Vasile’s demand that I accompany you on this infernal mission, but I have not,” Severus bit back.

“Don’t bother. Catalina and I can handle this ourselves.”

“If Vasile thought that, I doubt he would have taken the trouble to break through my wards to inform me otherwise. You may wish to put the Order’s interests in danger with your reckless behavior, but I will not make the same mistake.”

“Whatever. Just stay out of my way.”

She swept past him, and he fell in behind her, cursing himself for baiting her even as he renewed his resolution against apologizing. They circled around the squat structure to find a smooth door with no handle. She ran her hand over the wood and the door opened, allowing them access to the dark, claustrophobic interior, and Severus could feel an unfamiliar power thrumming through the place. The door swung shut behind them, and Severus found himself fidgeting with his fingers as his magic recoiled from the forces swirling inside the church.

“{It is about time you got here,}” said and irritable female voice, its owner emerging from the shadows and holding her glowing wand aloft. “{Where have you been?}”

“{Good morning, Catalina. Nice to see you too,}” Miranda replied shortly.

The Romanian eyed Severus suspiciously and demanded, “{Who is this? Why is he here?}”

“{This is Severus Snape, a member of the Order. Severus, Catalina Dragnea,}” Miranda explained in an extremely annoyed voice. “{A little bird told us that it would be useful if he were to come along this morning.}”

“{A little bird, or an old bear?}” Catalina asked rhetorically. “{Never mind. Come, you must trace one side of the icon while I trace the other, so that we may gain entrance to the cave.}”

Miranda and Severus followed Catalina across the tiny space to the opposite wall.  Severus drew his wand and cast a quiet Lumos,and the blue light from his wand joined Catalina’s in illuminating an image of a primitive Christ, perched on a vine, teaching the apostles while they sat among the branches. The paint and the gold were as worn and dull as the literal-minded image, and Severus glared at it malevolently.

Catalina placed the tip of one finger at the base of the vine, and Severus snorted derisively as she kissed the feet of the Christ in the image. The Romanian ignored him and looked expectantly at Miranda, who threw an angry glance at Severus before kissing the icon herself and tracing the middle root. When the women reached the bottom of the image, they stepped back, waiting.

Nothing happened.

“{I think I see now why you were told to come,}” Miranda said bitterly.

“{Indeed.}” Severus sneered.

“{If he touches the icon and it opens, he will have to come down with us.}” Catalina pointed out.

“{Obviously,}” Severus drawled.

“{Best get on with it then,}” Miranda snapped.

Catalina glared at Severus, but repeated her reverence of the icon and set her finger to follow the same root as before. Miranda also kissed the feet of the painted Christ, and slid her finger to its position at the base of the vine.

“{Is there a problem?}” Catalina demanded.

“{Do you expect me to kiss that thing?}” Severus asked incredulously, feeling that he would rather kiss a dead rat than place his lips on this crude painting.

“{You probably should. The magic might not work otherwise,}” Miranda said. “{But don’t worry, you don’t have to mean it.}”

“{In all my days…}” Severus muttered, but did not bother to give voice to the rest of his thought. He gave the thing the briefest and most nihilistic kiss he could manage, and jerked his head away as his lips encountered an unsettling burning sensation, as though they had touched a fire instead of a wall of dead wood. His finger felt similarly uncomfortable when he traced it along third root, and he snatched his hand back as quickly as humanly possible.

At the end of the ritual, a river of light welled up from beneath the floor, and rushed up the painted vine, until there was a wall of light that blinded them in the darkness of the church. They stood blinking furiously until the light faded away, leaving an opening in the wall where the image had been. Severus stepped forward before either of the women could react, holding out his wand to illuminate a narrow tunnel of packed earth and an ancient staircase of moldering wood.

“{Perhaps I may be so bold as to go first?}” he said dryly.

Catalina’s eyes flashed in the dim light. “{Only if I bring up the rear,}” she said.

“{I feel so safe,}” Miranda said sarcastically. “{Nothing will be able to get me if I’m between the two of you.}”

Severus began the descent without waiting to hear any more of Miranda’s spleen. The women barely had time to enter the tunnel before the wall slid shut, leaving them alone in the dark, with only their wands as guides.

*****

The dank earth pressed in on them as they picked their way down the rotting staircase. The wood groaned under their feet, but the sound was swallowed by the packed dirt. Severus proceeded without hesitation, his posture alert and sure. Miranda could hear Catalina keeping pace behind her, but the sound of her footsteps was oddly muffled, as though some strange being had thrown a blanket over the three of them that smothered any sign of life.

While Miranda had started out counting the number of steps twisting down into the darkness, somewhere around three hundred or so she lost patience with it and started whistling instead. Within seconds, Severus’s voice drifted back to her.

“{Do stop that racket, Miranda,}” he snapped.

“{What’s wrong with trying to pass the time?}” she protested.

“{He’s right. We need to be able to hear trouble coming,}” Catalina put in.

“{Like what? Bats?}” Miranda demanded.

“{Like a cave in,}” Severus said, as though he were explaining to a small child.

“{Fine.}” Miranda replied grudgingly, and fell silent. Soon after, she started switching her wand from hand to hand, tossing it lightly back and forth in an attempt to burn up some of the restless energy that was buzzing through her. The trick started out every dozenth step or so, but the time between throws grew shorter and shorter, until she was switching hands every other step and causing the light cast by her wand to blend into a dizzying zigzag of blue.

“{Miranda, stop it!}” Catalina chided.

“{Good Lord! Would the both of you stop picking at me?}” Miranda snapped back.

She tossed the wand a final time in defiance, but then she held it aloft in a mocking salute, until the ceiling began to slope down towards them, and all three of them had to pull their wands closer to their bodies and stoop to avoid hitting their heads. Miranda started pacing her breathing, three steps in, hold for three, out for six, and repeat in an endless round, but even still her fingers tingled and her head felt disconnected from the rest of her body.

“Why did it have to be a cave?” she muttered to herself. Her companions either didn’t hear, or chose to ignore her grumbling.

By this time they were almost crawling their way down, and Miranda was starting to see stars in front of her eyes. The urge to scream choked her, welling up from the core of her being and demanding to be released. She held it tight in her throat, out of concern that she might actually trigger a cave in, rather than for the rest of the party’s sensibilities. But the longer she held it in, the more sure she became that it was only a matter of time before it would rip free.

Just as she knew she could hold in her shriek no longer, she stumbled into the bottom of the staircase, and rolled across the packed earth floor, covering herself in dirt from head to toe. Severus loomed over her, and the light from his wand revealed a small cavern of scarred stone.

“{Were you planning to lie there all day, or will you be accompanying us on the rest of the journey?}” Severus asked mockingly.

“{I thought a nap might be a good idea after all that,}” Miranda replied nastily, rolling to her feet and dusting herself off.

“{Did Vasile tell you which tunnel we are to take from here?}” Catalina asked brusquely. Although she had emerged from the staircase last of the three, she was the first to survey the road ahead. Three tunnels were before them, unmarked and apparently untouched for God knew how long.

“{No. He didn’t tell you?}” Miranda countered.

“{No.}"

“{What direction is the river?}” Severus demanded impatiently.

“{I don’t know,}” Catalina snapped back.

“{Typical.}"

“{Excuse me?}”

“{The Four-Point Spell will be useless. Miranda, your tracking spell, if you please.}”

Miranda nodded and braced her feet, trying not to imagine how much earth was pressing down on them. “Miskawew,” she cast.

The rainbow light burst forth from her wand and circled around the cavern thrice before fading away into nothing. She frowned and cast again to the same effect. A third try produced no light at all.

“{Why isn’t it working?}” Severus asked.

“{Something’s interfering with the spell, but I don’t know what,}” Miranda said, shivering involuntarily.

“{We’re wasting time,}” Catalina said. “{There are three of us; one for each tunnel. Whoever finds the river first can send a Patronus to the others.}”

Miranda could tell from the set of Severus’s jaw that he did not like the plan. But, as he did not seem to have any other ideas, he restrained himself to saying, “{You seem unusually certain that you can reliably cast a Patronus down here.}”

“Expecto Patronum!” Catalina spat. A silvery chamois appeared instantly, pawed the ground with its hoof, and leapt passed the three of them, up the stairs and out of sight.

“Expecto Patronum,” Severus cast lazily, his doe gracefully bounding around the cavern and then following the path that the chamois had taken.

Severus and Catalina turned to Miranda, who swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She closed her eyes and thought about her river, but she could only picture it carrying the body of her drowned brother Columba. She quickly shifted to Ilvermorny, calling for David to run with her through the mountains—but David was lying cold and dead under the Snakewood Tree, and would not come to her call.

“Fuck!” Miranda cursed, twitching her wand in frustration.

“{What’s taking so long?}” Catalina demanded.

“{I just don’t like caves. Be quiet so I can concentrate.}” Miranda replied, amazed her voice was as calm as it was.

She flexed her fingers around her wand and the weight of it in her hand soothed her. This brought her to another memory, and she breathed more easily as she recalled that day in her childhood when she’d had that perfect baseball game and her whole future had changed.

“Expecto Patronum,” she cast. Her silvery bobcat burst forth and bolted for the stairs, disappearing almost before Miranda had time to see it.

“{Good. We’re ready,}” Catalina said tersely. “{I will take the tunnel on the left. Professor Snape will take the one on the right, and Miranda will take the middle.}”

“{Exactly who put you in charge?}” Severus asked.

“{Can we just get on with it,}” Miranda said, before the other two could start another argument.

“{Agreed. I’ll see you at the river,}” Catalina said, and she strode into her tunnel, the light from her wand disappearing as she rounded the first bend.

Miranda started for her assigned penance, but she was halted by Severus’s hand on her arm.

“Are you alright?” he asked angrily.

Miranda matched his glare with her own. Although she had come to the church that morning ready to forgive and hoping he would come, the fact that he was still acting like the world’s biggest ass had her as infuriated with him as she’d been when she’d left him in Bucharest.

“I’m fine,” she said, defiantly shaking off his hand.

He looked at her dubiously, but acquiesced to the inevitable. “As you say.”

She held her wand high and trotted off into her tunnel, wanting nothing more than to get this thing over with as quickly as possible.

*****

“At least I don’t have the other two complaining about my making too much noise now,” Miranda said aloud to herself. She’d trotted long enough to feel winded, and though this new tunnel was luxuriously large compared to the one they had first squeezed through, it was still dark enough and the stone floor was uneven enough, that stumbling was a concern. She restrained her pace to a quick walk, her feet hitting the ground in a rolling motion to glide her over the ruts and cracks beneath her. The light from her wand cast dancing shadows where it bounced off the jagged shapes scratched deep into the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, as though some giant had tried to claw its way out of a suffocating tomb. The echo of her voice rebounding off the same features made her feel slightly less alone. She knew she was acting like a child whistling in the dark, but since there was no one here to see her, who would be the wiser?

“Dig a hole, dig a hole in the meadow, gonna lay darlin’ Cory down,” she sang under her breath. “Okay, maybe not that song. Something else. Think cheerful Miranda. You know, sunshine and moonbeams. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kit—ahh!”

Her monologue ended in a shriek and she dropped to the floor in a crouch, and covered her head with her hands as a burst of movement exploded from the ceiling and darted at her head.

“It’s just bats, Miranda, just bats,” she muttered, swatting at the creatures as they swooped over her and out of sight, but she stayed huddled on the ground, even after the tunnel was silent again.

“Come on girl,” she said, slowly and reluctantly unrolling from the safety of her crouch. “Only way out is through.”

She turned to continue her mission through the tunnel, and started at the sight of a large black tomcat, sitting in the middle of her path and staring at her boldly with its bright yellow eyes. The back of her neck pricked in warning, but she addressed it with a boldness that she did not feel.

“Hello there. How did you get down here?”

The cat twitched its tail and a buzzing sound started in Miranda’s ears. “Are you lost?” she persisted, squatting so that she was eye to eye with the creature.

An unpleasant shock of energy pulsed from her wand into her hand, but she was too mesmerized by the cat’s stare to wonder what it meant. She had never seen such captivating eyes on any living creature, and they expanded until they filled her whole world with sickly yellow light. A foul, sulfurous odor filled her lungs, and she covered her mouth and nose with her hand, coughing and choking on the smell. The cat hissed and spat, then lunged at her, its claws unleashed. Miranda flicked her wand at the frenzied feline to cast a Shield Charm, but the cat—or whatever it was—vanished before making impact. She whipped around in search of it, but though the hairs on the back of her neck still stood on end, as far as she could otherwise tell she was again alone.

She blew out her breath in an unsteady shudder and turned to continue down the tunnel in search of the river. Before she could take another step, the stone around her melted away into a sunny afternoon in an all too familiar place.

“What…” she said, but her voice trailed off in confusion as her eyes drank in the sight of her own river on the other side of the world. It flowed freely, rushing over the rocks and under the footbridge, reminding her, as it always did, that she was free to go where ever she wished. Entranced, she scooped up a handful of stones and started skipping them across the surface, the cave fading to the back of her mind like a dream fades in the light of day. The sun warmed her cheeks and she felt safer than she had in a very long time.

A hand broke through the water, catching one of the stones. The rest of the rocks slipped through Miranda’s fingers, clattering noisily to the ground as she watched Columba emerge from the river, green and bloated in death. She wanted to run, or even take a step away from the specter, but she could no more escape from him than Persephone  had been able to flee Hades.

Her brother stopped on the bank and smiled at her with his dripping lips.

“Hello Miranda,” he said. And it was his voice; but there was an unnatural burr marring it, like something was stuck in his throat and vibrating as he spoke. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” she whispered.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Really? I don’t believe you.”

When she didn’t answer, he threw the rock in his hand at her. It cut her cheek as it sailed by, but the pain pounding in her head numbed her to smaller injuries.

“You do know that this was all your fault,” he continued in a vicious sing-song.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I should have been here.”

“Then why aren’t you crying?” Oh God, he was moving again, his hand outstretched, and she would die if he touched her.

“I don’t know, Columba. I haven’t cried in years,” she blurted in terrified frustration. “I don’t think I have any more tears left at all.”

“It’s hard to believe that you care when you don’t cry over the dead,” said a voice behind her. It too was painfully familiar, lower than Columba’s, and polluted by the same repugnant burr; and though Columba’s hand reached for her, it was the hands of this new phantom that grasped her.

She shut her eyes tightly as David’s hands took hold of her shoulders, caressing them the way he had in life—the way Severus had in the garden not two days earlier. The dead man ran his hands down her arms, turning her towards him, and she was helpless to escape his embrace. She gasped in horror when she felt his cold fingers on her face, and she unwillingly opened her eyes to look into his sightless blue ones.

“Hello David,” she said dully.

“Hello Miranda,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her with his clammy lips. She whimpered against their touch. “Don’t worry. I already know you’ve found someone to replace me.”

He was still nose to nose with her, and he smelled of dank earth and lost dreams.

“No one could replace you,” she choked. “But you’ve been dead for ten years. I’m sorry you died, but I still have to live.”

“You should be sorry I died. After all, it was your fault.”

“I know it was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“If you can’t cry for us,” Columba said, drifting up to stand next to David, “maybe there is something else you can do.”

She desperately looked from one accusing face to the other. “Anything. I’ll do anything,” she promised rashly, and whether it was from fear or from sorrow she could not tell.

David brushed his lips over her forehead, scraping it like the door of a sepulcher sliding shut. She nodded once, understanding without words what they wanted. David pulled away, and she reached out for him, closing her eyes and tilting her face up to his, desperate to prove that she did love him, even after all this time.

She staggered and fell as she clutched at the empty air before her. When she opened her eyes, her river was gone, and she was again trapped in a tunnel, a mile beneath the surface of the earth.

Catalina’s chamois came bounding towards her from the darkness and said with Catalina’s voice, “I’ve found the river! I’m waiting for you here.”

The chamois stood staring at Miranda until she gave a ragged, aching sob, and pushed herself up off of the floor. As it started trotting back up the tunnel to lead her to Catalina, Miranda followed it with shaking steps. There was an almost unbearable pain in her head, and the relentless voices of the dead pounded in her ears.

The longer she walked, the sturdier her step became. By the time she reached Catalina’s tunnel and started down to the river, she knew exactly what she had to do.

*****

Although the sight of Miranda and Catalina kneeling beside the river allowed Severus to draw breath freely for the first time in perhaps an hour, it did nothing to alleviate the state of his nerves. Since the three of them had separated, he had drawn his wand enough times — to threaten bats, stalagmites, and his own shadow — that he was beginning to question his own sanity. At this rate he was going to require a vacation to recover from his vacation.

At the sound of his footsteps echoing through the oddly silent cavern, Catalina rose, stoppered her bottle and stowed it somewhere in her robes. Unlike the dark stone from the tunnels leading up to it, the rock in this space appeared to be covered with a thick layer of ice. The light from their wands bounced about the space, reflected and bent by the faceted formations, but the artificial brightness was unsettling; too much, too soon after the darkness before it. There was a ghostly chill in the place, and even with the lapping flow of the river, it seemed silent as a tomb.

“{Are the both of you quite finished?}” Severus asked, his voice harsh but involuntarily quiet, as one speaks in a mausoleum.

“{I am. Miranda, do you have what you need?}” Catalina replied in a similar tone.

“{Almost.}” Miranda’s voice was dull and flat, and Severus arched an eyebrow at her back. He had never seen her so unsettled, and he wondered how close to breaking she was.

“{It is a strange place, but it has its own beauty, don’t you think, Miranda?}” Catalina said, surveying the otherworldly site with a touch of pride.

“{Yes. Beautiful.}”

Miranda ponderously put her bottle in her bag, and laboriously pushed herself up from the floor of the cavern. She trudged towards them, her head bent, her eyes on the ground, and Severus knew that something was very wrong. Catalina seemed oblivious; she had already turned and was leading the party back to the world above. As Miranda passed Severus, he caught her arm to stop her.

“Are you certain you can make it all the way back?” he asked, the tightness of his voice betraying his concern.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” she replied listlessly, shaking off his hand again, and plodding into the tunnel behind Catalina.

Severus shivered and brought up the rear, sure that the malevolent eyes of some obfuscated creature were watching them, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

*****

There were twenty-three turns in the tunnel before the opening that led to the stairs out of this godforsaken place. Severus was sure of the number, having meticulously counted them on his way through it the first time. They made it all the way to number twenty-two before the trouble started. Although he had been obsessively watching Miranda for the entirety of the journey back from the underworld, even to the point of tripping several times over ruts in the rock beneath his feet for want of attention, it was in the instant that he looked away that it happened. One second he was watching Miranda’s sagging shoulders, his muscles coiled and ready to spring forward to catch her when she inevitably faltered; the next second he was glancing to the left, his attention drawn by a flash of some shadow flickering through the light cast by his wand; and in the third fatal second, he was sandwiched between the opposite wall and Catalina’s body.

“What the devil!” he shouted, pushing the Romanian off of him in confusion, but his words died on his lips when he raised his eyes to see Miranda standing over the two of them, her magic crackling around her, her hair standing on end, her eyes veritably rolling as she rained curses down on them like a fury from the depths of Hell. He slammed his Shield Charm in place; shoulder to shoulder with Catalina who, thankfully, seemed capable of casting a reasonable Shield Charm of her own.

“Miranda, what are you doing?” Severus demanded, but she only bared her teeth at him and redoubled her efforts. He knew she was angry with him—that she probably hated him—but surely his sins were not so grave that they warranted murder.

“{Don’t bother, Professor, she can’t hear you,}” Catalina said, crouching close enough to him that he wanted to flinch away. “{It’s the Spirit of the Mine.}”

“{What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?}”

“Confringo!” Miranda shouted, her voice strangled with an unearthly vibration that he had never heard from her.

Catalina’s face was white with the effort of maintaining her Shield against Miranda’s relentless onslaught. “{A dark spirit. I thought it was a fairytale but apparently it’s true.}”

“{Are you telling me Miranda is possessed? I don’t believe it.}”

“{Unless this is some kind of sick foreplay, do you have another explanation? She must have met it down here and it’s taken her.}”

“Oppungio!” Miranda ripped a stalactite down from the ceiling, and Severus released his Shield long enough to blast the thing into powder. Perhaps the Romanian witch was right. Miranda rarely needed to cast spells verbally in a duel. If she were in the power of some other force…he slammed his Shield back in place as Miranda sent another hex his direction.

“{Why her and not one of us?}” he argued, unwilling accept the disastrous implications.

“{Her fear. It must have preyed on her through her fear.}” Catalina explained.

“Confringo!” Miranda cast again, knocking them against the stones. Catalina’s head cracked off the rock with sickening violence, and Severus grunted painfully as another hex caught him in the shoulder. He parried Miranda’s next round of curses with his own, advancing on her and driving her back to give Catalina time to recover.

“Miranda! That’s enough!” he ordered in his most stentorian tone, but she gave no sign that she had even heard him speak. Her eyes were wide and focused, but he could see no light of recognition in them. She fought like a marionette with some dark creature jerking the strings.

Suddenly she spun in place, shooting curses at the four corners of the tunnel with terrible precision. Severus did not understand her intention until the rock started vibrating under his feet.

“Expelliarmus!”he shouted, calling her wand to his hand and shoving it a pocket. He followed immediately with, “Incarcerous!”

Thin black ropes slithered out of his wand and wrapped themselves around Miranda, who staggered and fell. He managed to catch her and lay her down on the ground, but the damage to the tunnel had already been done. As Catalina lunged for the two of them, the tunnel came down over their heads. And while he and the Romanian managed to cast their Shield Charms in time to keep the three of them from being crushed, they could do nothing to stop the tunnel from collapsing around them and burying them alive.

*****

“{Dragnea, are you injured?}” Severus demanded when the dust had settled around them.

“{Nothing serious. You?}” Catalina replied tersely.

“{I appear to have escaped unscathed.}” He peered out through the translucent wall of their Shield Charms, surveying the load of rock that lay between them and liberty. “{If you can manage to hold the Shield on your own, I should be able to dig us a way out.}”

“{I can manage. But we must deal with Miranda first.}”

Catalina’s voice quavered over Miranda’s name and Severus shut his eyes briefly, dreading to look at Miranda, as he had absolutely no idea what to do to help her. But he forced himself to open his eyes, and to examine her as dispassionately as he could. Her body was breathing peacefully, marred by cuts and bruises but otherwise unhurt as far as he could tell. Still bound by his spell, she made no move to attack them, and her wide, unblinking eyes showed no sign of anger; or even of recognition.

“{I’ve never seen her like this,}” Severus growled in impotent fury.

Catalina stooped over Miranda, running the fingers of her free hand lightly over the American’s face. “{I have an idea.}” she said slowly. “{Hold the Shield, I will need both hands.}”

Severus grunted as he took the entire weight of the rock on his own Shield. Catalina swiftly pulled a candle from the depths of a pocket, set it in a rut in what was left of the floor, and lit it with her wand. A low chanting in a language that Severus did not understand emanated from her lips and she produced a leather-wrapped bottle from another pocket as she sang. With a quick flick of her wrist, she shook something from the bottle onto her fingers, then crossed herself three times. She repeated the operation to cross Miranda, chanting all the while, then turned to Severus.

“{This is hardly the time for superstitious nonsense,}” he snapped at her, catching her wrist before her fingers could reach his forehead.

“{You don’t have any better ideas,}” she snapped back, jerking her wrist away.

He glared at her but, as her accusation was true, he grudgingly relented and allowed her to cross him with her wet, cold fingers. “{Now what?}”

Catalina passed her hand over Miranda’s face again, but there was no response.

“{I fear that the Spirit is still in her mind.}” Catalina said hesitantly. “{I…if I use Legilimency I might be able to help her defeat it.}”

“{No!}” Severus objected sharply, remembering his own painful intrusion into Miranda’s mind. “{Absolutely not.}”

“{Snape, digging out of this trap is going to take all of our strength. We cannot drag her out or fight her; and we cannot leave her here. The Spirit is the thing preventing her from moving now. She must be fighting it, otherwise she would be struggling to free herself from your spell so that she could keep trying to kill us. If I can help her defeat it, then she might be able to at least walk under her own power.}”

“{She is a natural Occlumens. Dismantling her mental protections without hurting her is an impossible task even when she is a willing participant. If she is warring with a dark creature in her mind, adding another intruder, even a benevolent one, may kill her.}”

“{So will being crushed by a ton of rock. No Shield Charm can last forever.}”

As much as he hated to admit it, Catalina was talking sense. But if anyone was going to undertake the wretched task of breaching Miranda’s mind, it was going to be him.

“{Very well,}” he said acidly. “{You will hold the Shield and I will do the Legilimency.}”

Relief flashed across Catalina’s face. “{I think she would prefer that anyway.}”

“I’m not certain of that,” he muttered, but the Romanian ignored him.

It was the work of a moment for Catalina to set her Shield in place, and it held firm and steady when Severus removed his. Decision taken, he wedged himself into a seated position on the ground next to Miranda, ignoring the discomfort from the jagged stone that jutted into his back as he did. Impulsively, he pulled her into his lap, tilting her head back so that he could gaze into her blank eyes, and discovered that he need not concern himself with her defenses—the wall had already been breached.

“Legilimens,” he whispered, falling into her mind almost before the spell was completely cast.

He landed hard on his knees on the dirt road before her protective wall. The structure still stood, but there was a jagged hole missing from the middle of it, as though some creature had clawed its way in. He scrambled to his feet and climbed through the opening in the fortress, wand drawn. Unlike his previous, chaotic excursion into her thoughts, this time the landscape of her mind was eerily quiet. Beyond the wall was a tiny attic, empty save for a few cobwebs and splinters. Gray light filtered in through a partially boarded window, but when Severus examined it, he could see nothing on the other side. A quick survey of the room revealed a door, which opened into a staircase that twisted away into the shadowy distance. Muffled sounds floated up from the darkness, and he attacked the stairs with a vengeance, taking them two at a time, as fast as he could go with out falling.

He did stumble when he reached the bottom, it came so suddenly, green grass rushing up to meet him. When he glanced above him, the staircase was gone, and he was in a verdant paradise; groves of sycamores and willows crowded the banks of a river that rushed under a charming footbridge and broke over rocks as it ran. It could only be Miranda’s river, Severus thought he would know it anywhere from her description, and he hurried to its shore, searching for her.

“Miranda,” he called, when he could not find her.

“Go away!” hissed a voice from above.

He saw her at last, obscured by the branches of a sycamore tree, and she huddled closer to the trunk of it when she realized he had discovered her hiding place.

“I can’t do that,” he said calmly. “I need you to come down.”

“Why would you want me to do that? I’m an idiot, remember?”

He absorbed the blow and persisted. “Miranda, I know that you are aware that you are one of the most intelligent people of my acquaintance. Now stop this nonsense and come down.”

“Not until you say you’re sorry for being nasty to me.”

“Women,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said I should take more care not to let my temper rule my tongue.”

“That's…actually better than I was hoping for,” she admitted, swinging nimbly down from the tree.

He swallowed the snide remarks that leapt to his mind and opened his arms, and a foolish joy beat in his heart when she willingly stepped into them.

“May I safely assume that you do not hate me?” he murmured, his face buried in her hair.

“I never hated you, Severus. But I suggest you work on your apologies. For a man who is as big an ass as you are, you’re going to need them.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, tensing in his arms.

“Surely that isn’t as shocking a revelation as all that,” pulling back to see the fear on her face.

“No, it’s…it’s them again.”

He whirled to see what had her so horrified, but saw nothing.

“What do you see?” he asked as Miranda huddled against him.

“David and Columba. Don’t you see them? They’re coming for me across the river. They want me to kill you. They won’t be happy until I kill you. It’s my fault they died and…”

He grabbed her, cutting off her babbling. “Listen to me, it isn’t them. It’s some other creature, and you must fight it.”

“It is them!” she insisted, trying to escape his grasp.

“Think, Miranda! Would either of those men wish for you to do murder? Whatever you blame yourself for, do you believe that either of them would blame you for their deaths?”

“No…”

He pulled her wand out of his pocket and placed it in her hand, cupping his around it and willing his strength into her.

“It’s dark magic Miranda. But you can fight it. I know what feats you are capable of.”

Her jaw set in grim determination, and she stepped clear of him, her wand ready to engage the unseen threat that bore down on her. As he watched her, he became aware of a bottle in his hand, small and covered with leather, identical to the one that Catalina had held in the tunnel. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he shook some of the water from the bottle onto his fingers, intending to seal her forehead with the sign of her God.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little shit?” boomed an unwelcomely familiar voice.

Severus jerked back like he had been slapped and gazed in visceral horror as his father appeared from behind one of the trees.

“Hiding behind a woman, just like the sniveling coward you are,” Tobias continued, advancing on his son.

The world around him seemed to grow, or perhaps Severus shrank, but soon he was looking up at the Tobias-thing that towered over him, spewing venom and stinking of cheap liquor. The smell turned Severus’s stomach, and for a moment he feared he was going to vomit, the way he sometimes would when he had been a child at the mercy of his father’s fists.

“And what’s that you’ve got?” Tobias sneered at the bottle Severus grasped in his hand. “Didn’t I tell you that religion’s for women and poofs? But maybe that’s what you are—some nancy cock-sucker who takes it up the ass because he’s not even man enough to give it, you goddamn woofter.”

Tobias’s meaty hands reached for Severus’s throat, but Miranda dropped to her knees at the same instant, her wand forgotten on the ground, her hands at her neck wrestling with invisible fingers as she gasped for air. Although every fiber of Severus’s being cried out for him to run, he turned away from Tobias and traced a cross in water on Miranda’s forehead with a steadiness that he did not feel. Her hands relaxed the instant he finished the task, and she gathered her wand while he faced the Spirit that wore his father’s face.

“I suggest you take yourself off to hell, or wherever it is that you belong,” he said as he traced a cross on his own forehead with the tip of his thumb—perhaps the most spiteful and defiant use of the sign ever made by a unbeliever on this earth before or since.

The Tobias-thing wavered and vanished in a hiss of black smoke. Miranda gripped Severus’s hand, and the bottle of water was gone.

“They disappeared,” she said, “when you touched me.”

“Then it is high time we removed ourselves from this place. There is still much work to be done before we earn our rest today.”

She grabbed his face and kissed him on the mouth, full and achingly sweet. And when he opened his eyes, he held her in his arms, huddled beneath the canopy of Catalina’s Shield.

*****

It took a tedious amount of time before they were finally free of their prison. Severus had to take a turn holding up the weight of the rock so that Catalina could rest. Miranda was in no fit state to do anything besides work to keep her wits about her in the tight space and drag herself out through the tunnel that Severus created when Catalina was ready to take up the task of Atlas once more. But eventually they all managed to squirm their way back to the limbo at the foot of the stairs leading to the world above. And when they burst out of that unending flight into the minuscule church, the outer door was open to the world, and Miranda rushed through it, and Severus did not try to stop her.

Catalina wiped her grimy hands and her robes, then held one out to him. “{Not bad,}” she said when he grasped it. “{For a foreigner.}”

He snorted and returned, “{I am overwhelmed by your gratitude.}”

“{You’ll take care of her?}” she asked as they emerged from the church into an afternoon as clear and bright as anyone who had spent the bulk of the day buried alive could wish.

“{Yes, I will.}”

The Romanian nodded and set off down the cobblestone walk while Severus scanned the grounds, searching for a sign of the direction Miranda had taken. An inviting meadow of wildflowers bordered the church, and he wandered into its open arms for quarter of an hour before he caught site of her. She was lying in the grass, her arms spread out as though she might embrace the whole of the sky. He approached her slowly, bearing the full burden of his awkwardness now that his anger was well and truly spent. Though he felt like the fool of the world, he lay down next to her when he reached her; but he kept scrupulously apart, fidgeting with the blades of grass while he waited for her judgement.

“I think,” she said after an unbearable moment, “that in an hour or so, when I can get up again, I’d like to go back to my campsite and cook a huge dinner over an open fire.”

“Yes?” he said, wondering if he was going to be welcome at this dinner.

“And then I think I’d like to stay outdoors all night and sleep under the stars.”

“Yes?”

He felt the touch of her hand on his, and wrapped his fingers around the precious weight.

“I was hoping you’d join me.”

“That would be most agreeable.”

“Good.”

He was raw and open, like a wound, and if she had asked, in that moment he would have told her anything. But she didn’t ask; and the moment passed with them lying together, alive, and reasonably whole, watching the wisps of clouds drift above them through the endless sky.

*****

End Notes:

Endless thanks to everybody who cheered me along while I wrestled with this beast of a chapter; especially to Chemical_Pixie, Lost_Robin, Bunbury, RonsGirlFriday, Pixileanin, CheekyTorahLex, Unwritten Curse, belgian quaffle, poppunkpadfoot, Tidal_Dragon, and anybody else I may have missed. I could not have finished this without your support.

Endless thanks and love also to Mr. Zingarella, who beta-ed this and encouraged me through many revisions. Any mistakes leftover are mine.

Miranda is unknowingly quoting Severus's description of his father as written by J K Rowling in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Prince's Tale.

The icon Severus derides depicts Christ's teaching "I am the vine and you are the branches."

A chamois is a goat like animal native to Romania

Darlin' Cory is an American Folk Song.

The One Wood Church; or rather, the One Wood Monastery, is a real place. It was built by a monk from a single tree to house a miraculous icon that he found inside the trunk. I invented the interior, and the cave underneath--at least, to the best of my knowledge.

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+ 

<< Chapter Twenty-Three+

Chapter Twenty-Five+ >>

[x-sanguinate]

— SANGUINE SHADOWS 

@umbane​​

        The moon hangs high in the night sky, and a relic of the past walks the roads beyond Noxus Prime. He is alone. Isolated. Such a fact would leave highwaymen and assassins watering at the mouth, given the wealth that this wanderer carried on him in clothing and accessories alone.

        But this wanderer carried something else with him. Something far more terrible than any weapon employed by countryside murderers and thieves. At his beck and call was the blood of ancients, bound to his will through a millenium-old betrayal. While the origins of his power has been kept from the ears of all but the Matron herself, he has wasted no expense in making sure that everyone—EVERYONE—knows just how dangerous he truly is.

        It started as a way to clear his mind, walking alone at night like this. Now it was his way of taunting would-be robbers. He was untouchable, just like the cool winds that now swept across the tilled farmland to his right, and swept through the forestry to his left.

        As his distance from Noxus Prime grew, his distance from the nearest Noxtoraa shrunk. It was in the shadow of such gates that the visions of empire were cast, though such a vision was always subject to varied responses. Sometimes joy. Sometimes hate. Sometimes death. 

        It was in the shadow of this particular Noxtoraa that a Noxian convoy was attacked. All of its guards were slain, with the prize it was said to contain stolen. A darkin weapon was housed within, and now this weapon was lost, existing somewhere in someone else’s hands, out in the sprawling vastness of Runeterra. In truth, this weapon was actually quite close.

        So close, in fact, that it would take nary a moment for its wielder to be upon him.

[thedcdunce]

Harlequin

“Something's wrong! These are the same crooks and yet, their powers are different, opposite!” - Harlequin

Real Name: Duela Dent

Aliases:

Joker's Daughter

Catgirl

Scarecrone

Riddler's Daughter

Penguin's Daughter

Card Queen

Doomsday's Daughter

Gender: Female

Height: 5′ 8″

Weight: 120 lbs (54 kg)

Eyes: Purple

Hair: Red

Abilities:

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic)

Gadgetry

Universe: 

Earth-3

Earth-One

New Earth

Citizenship: American

Parents:

Jokester; father

Evelyn Dent; mother

Marital Status: Single

First Appearance: Batman Family #6 (August, 1976)

Appearance of Death: Countdown #51 (May, 2007)

Abilities

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic)

Gadgetry

Pre-Crisis

Duela Dent first appeared as Joker's Daughter. She gained the attention of Robin, as she later claimed to be the daughter of Catwoman, Scarecrow, Riddler, and Penguin. She deduced Robin's identity and he revealed that she was Duela Dent, Two-Face's daughter.

Duela claimed she wanted to join the Teen Titans to atone for her father's crimes. Not everyone was in favor of this idea. She changed her identity to Harlequin. As Harlequin, Duela utilized gimmicks such as smoke-inducing powder puffs and bullet-firing lipstick.

She eventually assisted Robin by posing as the Card Queen while infiltrating a criminal organization called MAZE. This was done in order to bring the whole organization down and the plan was a success.

Duela appeared as a guest at Donna Troy's wedding where she appears to be a middle-aged matron. Dick Grayson notes that he'd finally realized she was too old to be Two-Face's daughter, which she agrees with, but disappears before he can take the matter further.

There is some debate about, in pre-Crisis continuity, whether or not Duela Dent was too old to be Two-Face's daughter, since Two-Face was a contemporary of Batman, who was in turn a contemporary of Wonder Woman, who rescued Donna Troy when the latter was an infant. Since Donna is thus young enough to be Wonder Woman's daughter, Duela is young enough to be Two-Face's daughter.

On the other hand, there is the fact that Duela had to have been born after Two-Face's debut and Two-Face's origin came after Dick Grayson's debut as Robin, so there is no way she can be older than Dick Grayson, yet clearly is.

Post-Crisis

Harlequin aided the Titans during the "Technis Imperative," in which Cyborg's automated system seeks out all Titans allies, past and present. Although she is in a mental institution, Duela is rescued by Cyborg and helps battle the Justice League for Cyborg's soul.

Duela makes a brief appearance insisting to anyone who would listen that the Titans would soon contact her about membership. She also claims that she is the daughter of Doomsday.

When Gar Logan's obnoxious cousin Matt holds a membership drive for "Titans L.A.", Harlequin crashes the meeting-turned-party with a small group of villains, including Beast Boy's enemies Fear and Loathing, simply because she hasn't been invited. Flamebird and Terra defeat her and return her to The Helping House Mental Institution in Industry, California. How she met up with the dangerous villains with whom she crashed the party is unexplained.

Duela socializes with several villains at their secret satellite headquarters and makes a series of wild claims regarding her parentage, all of which are dismissed by the nonplussed villains.

Duela returns to action alongside the assembled Titans who face Dr. Light.

One Year Later

The Joker's Daughter and Enigma both serve on the Teen Titans during the year after the Infinite Crisis. Duela is later a member of the splinter group Titans East.

Miss Martian and Cyborg arrive at Belle Reve prison to question their former team mate Bombshell, who has betrayed the team. Risk and Batgirl arrive, and Batgirl murders Bombshell by slitting her throat with a razor sharp batarang. Duela and Enigma cut the prison's power supply, allowing the inmates to escape and attack Miss Martian and Cyborg.

During the attack, Enigma comments to Duela: "Wait'll dear old daddy gets a load of us!"

The two are the captors and tormentors of Raven, whom they torture psychologically. Duela reveals that she joined Titans East simply because they asked. Raven points out that Duela has always been an ally of the Titans, and offers her membership on the team. Duela accepts the invitation by punching Enigma, and fights alongside the Titans against Titans East. When the battle ends, Duela and Batgirl disappear.

Death and Origin

Duela later abducts a teen celebrity from a nightclub, only to be stopped by Jason Todd. She claims that she comes from an alternate Earth. After escaping, Duela is killed by a Monitors, who states, "This world is not yours. Your presence in it is not tolerated. The penalty is death." When informed of Duela's death, the Joker says he never had a daughter. The Monitor of New Earth suggests that Duela's father is actually an alternate version of the Joker, indicating "She didn't belong making others think she was the Joker's daughter. Which on that world, she most certainly was not." Nightwing, Robin, Donna Troy, Wonder Girl, and Ravager set out to investigate Duela's death, but their inquiries are cut short by one of the Monitors, who diverts their attention elsewhere.

It is later revealed that Earth-3's heroic version of the Joker, the Jokester, is the father of Duela Dent, and that her mother was Evelyn Dent, Three-Face. She was raised by Three-Face and her stepfather, the Earth-3 Riddler, and together the three formed the Riddler Family. When she was finally introduced to her birth father, she dropped cryptic hints implying that she or her consciousness shifts unknowingly from Earth to Earth, which is the source of her parental confusion. When the Jokester joined the Riddler Family, Duela revealed that she had been in a relationship with Talon, Owlman's teenaged sidekick. The Jokester renounced her as his daughter and Duela left with Talon moments before the Crime Society stormed their apartment. The Riddler was killed by Ultraman and Three-Face's arm was torn off by Superwoman; the Jokester managed to flee until he is later tracked down and killed by Solomon, the Monitor who killed Duela.

Fun Facts

Duela's name comes from the word "dual", referring to Harvey Dent's split personality.

The only one of her alias that has any kind of truth behind it is "Joker's Daughter".

Duela paints her skin white to mimic the Joker's skin color.

[rosebramblewolf]

SO MEANWHILE the single dude in our d&d party is playing a lady again in the new campaign & i can tell his reaction to me playing a dude is essentially that maybe our characters will get together but what he doesnt know is my character is Super Gay

and also doesnt trust Anyone but his esteemed and revered Twin Sister who is Going to be matron mother of the first house if he has to personally murder everyone in menzo to make it happen

[everly-kindred]

Everly’s Diary - Entry #31

Synopsis: Eve details the festivities happening around Hogwarts, and the spooky happenings that have occurred. 

Words: 3,698

Date: 27th of October, 2026

Dear Diary, 

Things have gotten really spooky around the castle now that Halloween is approaching. We did pumpkin carving, went trick-or-treating, had the Halloween Bash, and I threw a Death Day Party for the ghosts of Hogwarts! There’s also been some strange things happening, and I’ve had another vision. This time, it was scary. 

I’ll start with the pumpkin carving, which we did on Friday. I carved a pumpkin with some stars and a moon, drank cider and ate pumpkin pie, and all of that was quite nice. I got to carve with Bonnie and meet this pumpkin person she had made in artificer club. I’ve decided I’m going to start going to artificer club because this pumpkin person was amazing! He has a little pumpkin for a head, a barrel for a body, and brooms and sticks for his arms and legs. He can move around and is very silly! He even tried to carve a pumpkin of his own. 

During pumpkin carving, there was a lot of shouting. One Ravenclaw girl was throwing a fit and pumpkin guts at the professors. I can’t remember why. There was also Nora, a girl in my house, a third-year I think. She had this sign that said that carving was murder and said that if we carved pumpkins, we wouldn’t get presents from ‘the great pumpkin’ on Halloween night. I’ve never heard of such a thing! Eventually, she fled, but not before screaming, ‘MURDER!’ which caused an older girl, a Slytherin I think, to flee screaming like she was actually being murdered. 

That night, Bonnie and I went around the castle to do trick-or-treating (and she brought her little pumpkin person! She calls him a punkeen. He had his own little bucket to collect candy for Bonnie.) I didn’t want to wear my full costume until the bash, but I did wear the tights and hat from my costume, and a black sweater dress. We knocked on eighteen doors in total, and got tricked a few times! 

I started in the dungeons, deciding to go from the bottom of the castle up to the top - or I tried to, anyway. I think Professor Waldgrave’s door was the first one I knocked on. His door was tricked with spiders that crawl out and then vanish. I really thought they were real! The other door I knocked on down in the dungeons was the Ghoul Studies room. I got candy that time, but then when another round of students approached the door, they got attacked with water balloons… I, unfortunately, was in the crossfire and got wet. But at least I got candy! 

Next, we went up to the second floor. This really colourful professor gave us chocolate frogs, but they started multiplying until we were buried in them! I managed to escape, and they vanished, but not before I could splat one on her door! But then she came back out and gave us real chocolate frogs and chocolate wands. 

Then, we went to the tapestry corridor, where a really grouchy professor gave us candy. Bonnie’s candy eventually turned into a pair of dirty socks, which was disgusting, but my candy remained normal. After that, we went to the long gallery, which is where most of the doors were, I think. The first door we went to there was opened by a very kind looking professor with a round face and a dimple in her cheek. She gave us this pumpkin to open, and when we did, it exploded! Purple firecrackers and glitter in the shape of bats and orange, green, purple and black streamers flew out and got tangled in my braids! But then we managed to get actual candy from her, too. 

The door after that was Professor Banks’. I got some pumpkin-shaped candies from her, but then when another group went by, I guess they got tricked. The hall started to fill with the smell of stink sap! So we got out of there pretty fast. After that, we went up and knocked on Professor Rask’s door. I really do have such a problem with not staring at Veela, and she’s no different! Every single time, I always end up going all moony-eyed like an idiot. Anyways, she gave us candy that made our voices sound like animals, which was pretty cool. 

Bonnie and I stopped to talk and watched as some students got pranked by flying, screaming books that came from Professor Reuter’s room. We knocked on his door and got tea flavoured chocolates, which might be my favourite candy that I got that night! I’ll have to ask him where he got it! 

We went to the Mythology professor’s room next, and when she opened the door, there was this loud sound and this puppet fell from the ceiling! It had a huge face and looked kind of like a creepy dog or… lion with three eyes. It certainly gave me a fright! I’ll have to ask her about it at our next class, I know she likes to do a lot of stuff involving her homeland, Japan. Then, she gave us candies shaped like the pretty flowers on top of lily-pads. Bonnie says they’re called lotuses. 

Eventually, we found our way to the Defense Against The Dark Arts tower, which was probably where the weirdest encounter was. There was already a group of kids there before we got to the door, and when they knocked on it… The door sprouted eyes, and began crying really loudly and spraying everyone with its… tears? Anyways, we braced ourselves and approached the door, and when we knocked, it actually opened. There stood Professor Lane, and he was like… I mean… He had Christmas music playing? And was dressed like he was going out into a blizzard, and he had this board thing? Anyways he gave us these chocolate pie things that his wife had made. They were really good! 

We went up to the charms room next. Professor Idylwild gave us these Turkish delights that tasted like butterbeer, and they made me feel all warm. She also gave us these orange and cinnamon flavoured ones, and they made me burp fire! I told Bonnie I was being transfigured into a dragon. Wouldn’t that be so fun?

We got some taffy from Professor Green, and I took a bite of it, but… It made me all confused. Bonnie had to hold my hand for a while, because I didn’t know which way was up! I ended up throwing those taffies away. 

Then we went to the Hospital Wing, and got some lavender lollipops from Matron O’Rourke. After that, we used the clocktower to go down to the grounds, because I wanted to check the groundskeeper’s hut and the owelry. When we went to the hut, we got rained on by these rainbow candies and some confetti, and I swear I could hear Professor Eastwood laughing. But then, Professor Dracheblume came out gave us some candy. There wasn’t anything at the owelry.

We went up to the sixth floor and found Deputy Headmistress Blightly’s room. The door was sort of ajar, so we stepped in. Blightly looked like she’d been possessed, and we heard this voice and turned around to see a ghost who looked just like her! But then, the real Blightly started laughing and explained the ghost was her dead twin. 

At this point, Bonnie was wanting to trick someone in return. She said that when you get tricked and don’t get candy, you get to trick the professor in return! So Bonnie did the gemino curse on the wood of the door and stuck a note on it for the trick-or-treaters to only touch the metal knocker - doubly clever so that the students know, but the Deputy Headmistress doesn’t. If someone touches the wood, the door will multiply! I wonder what it looked like when Blightly discovered that! 

Next, we discovered Vikander’s door. When he first opened it, he tied the shoe-laces of my boots together! That didn’t stop me from knocking again, though, and when I did he gave me Feathersweet chocolates, and told me not to get myself killed…

Then we went down to the Muggle Studies classroom, and got some fudge rockets from Professor Hellstar, though he did try to give us bogie-flavoured candy first, which I, of course, threw away! After him, we found the flying professor’s door. He gave us a prank broom at first, that popped into snitch-shaped bubbles, but then after that, he gave us actual candy - also inside of these weird brooms that we had to break open. 

He was the last door of the night. After that, I went back to my dorms to count out my sweets and stash them away. All the candy I got actually saves me a trip to Hogsmeade, which is good considering I had to set up for the death day party, anyways.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, there was this blaring organ music playing. Apparently, it comes from the clock tower! I want to go visit it, but Aures sent me a letter begging me not to. It fills the castle with ticking sounds, weird raspy laughter, and music that reminds me of the Phantom of the Opera. I’ve also heard whispers that it’ll steal your voice if you touch it! Or I did, anyway, but this was all later proved to be unfortunately all too true. 

I had finished my pumpkin costume, which was fairly comfortable as far as Hallowe’en costumes go! I stitched it up with felt and orange thread and painted on it with black paint. I made a hat with the same felt and some stuffing, and then wore my matching orange and black striped tights. I also made some leaves out of green felt and used green thread to sew them into my tights so that they looked like vines. 

We all waited outside of the Great Hall when the time drew near. Everyone’s costumes looked brilliant! Aures dressed as a faun, I saw a few students who wore white with blood spatter, a lot of winged creatures (Bonnie went as a dragon) and I overheard Talula saying she was the queen of thestrals, or something like that. 

I’m not sure how, but the professors managed to turn the inside of the Great Hall into what I imagine the forbidden forest looks like - but with a lot more jack-o-lanterns. It was absolutely amazing! Like what Professor Gallo had done to the divinations room, but more spooky! 

The Deputy Headmistress and Headmistress O’Keeffe showed up together, and Blightly was wearing a suit and a mustache! The Headmistress was wearing a black dress, but… It was fairly different from her other dresses. More, uh, showy I suppose. She looked brilliant! 

I talked to a girl, a Gryffindor prefect,  I think, who was dressed like an angel. She spoke so softly, and seemed sort of… distracted. Like she wasn’t all on earth, which is a feeling I think I feel very often. She had asked me if I knew the theme ahead of time since there were so many jack-o-lanterns and I was dressed as one. I said I hadn’t, and she mentioned something about foresight… and then quickly said that most people don’t believe in that, though. I told her I did (I know it all too well) and there seemed to be some sort of… an understanding between us. 

After that, Levi approached me. He actually remembered me this time and thanked me for not covering my face up too much, since his memory is so bad. He came dressed as a ringmaster and showed me he actually had to write it down on his hand to remember what he looked like. I showed him my hand, which still had ink on it from when I was reading on Thursday. I write down page numbers on my hands if I don’t have a bookmark. That, names, important times, things like that. He seemed happy that someone else writes stuff down on their hands, too. I suggested he use a notebook to write things down, in case a professor tries to clean the ink or something with magic. I told him if he wanted to go trick-or-treating, we could go together, since he gets lost so easy. 

I ate cakes and drank punch, and danced until I got too tired. I tried to sleep, though I had a hard time. The organ kept waking me up, and that night, I had the vision. It was such a vivid nightmare, but I knew it wasn’t just a dream. I dreamed I was looking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and saw a class was happening. I saw students, but I couldn’t figure out any of their faces. Vikander stood at the head of the class. He was covered in blood and was laughing evilly. Organ pipes had burst through the floor and filled the room with this awful off-key sound. It seemed like I was going to go deaf, and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. And then there was a whirlwind, and I was watching one of the large statues in the school fall over, and crush someone underneath it. I couldn’t tell who it was, and I couldn’t get to them in time to stop it. I woke up crying. 

This morning, I went to the owelry and wrote the same letter to as many of my friends as I could think of. ‘Stay away from DADA, and keep your distance from the statues.’ Cheryl wrote back and told me I should go to the hospital wing and talk to a healer, and that everything would be fine… Because she doesn’t know that what I saw wasn’t just a nightmare. 

Bonnie helped me set up the Death Day party. We got some of the rotting pumpkins from the patch by Dracheblume’s hut, and from the patch the Hufflepuffs had grown over by the greenhouses. We went to the kitchens and got rotting fish and meats from the garbage, and bribed the house elves for the stinkiest cheeses that they had. Bonnie even transfigured some black buttons into ravens! 

Then, she used magic to hang up these black silk curtains in the dueling room, to really make it look spooky. We even threw some spiderwebs on them! Then, we set up two tables. One table full of the smelly stuff for the ghosts, because I read that they like it and fly through it because it’s the closest thing to eating, while the other was filled with some of the untouched food from the bash. Bonnie also transfigured some cool lights that looked like creepy hands coming out of the floor, holding lanterns. 

Bonnie talked to me about being a prefect and Head Girl, which made me wonder if I would ever be chosen to be one. I ended up telling Bonnie about my dream, my worries and the reason I wrote the letter. And… I told her that I’m a seer. And she believed me! She told me I should tell O’Keeffe or Blightly, and then she left to go to Hogsmeade with the other prefects. I left and got dressed in the outfit I had planned - black from my neck to my toes. A silky shirt with ruffles, and a skirt that went down to my feet with gold detailing on the bottom. I used black ribbons in my hair, too. 

Then, it was time for the Death Day party. I stood at the door and offered coffee beans to everyone, for them to stick in their nostrils to block out the smell. The room had gotten really gross smelling at that point, after all, and I didn’t want to chase anyone away.

At first, Bobby was the only living person who’d shown up. I saw a lot of the ghosts I was familiar with, and some I wasn’t… Like there was this one ghost who had a cat face and a tail! So she must have died by some sort of transfiguration or potions mishap, I imagine. She even had paws. There was also another ghost who was the Ghoul Studies professor a long time ago, and I think he was saying the organ took his voice. Another ghost I saw was one with a big bloody slit across his throat. I wanted so badly to ask them how they died, but I know that questions like those are huge no-nos when it comes to ghosts. They’re sensitive about it and all. 

 While we were at the party, an owl post announcement was sent that anyone who goes to the clocktower will be suspended, because of how dangerous the organ has become. I find this sad, as the clocktower is one of my favourite places to go. That, the wooden bridge outside of the clocktower courtyard, the owelry, the pitch… I’m sure there are others, but those are the first few that come to mind. 

The cat-ghost suggested that the organ is stealing voices because it needs a voice of its own. The professor ghost pointed out when another voice was stolen as well, because a new chord was played all throughout the castle. Through a little bit of charades, he told us that when the chord changes, it means a new voice was stolen. 

The bloody ghost - whose name I learned was Castiel - asked me why I wanted to throw all the ghosts a death-day party. I told him the truth, of course - that we’d been learning about ghosts in Ghoul Studies, and I wanted to be kind and show that they’re appreciated. He said that of course I’m a Hufflepuff, which I’m not sure if I should take offense to or not. I suppose not. There’s nothing bad about being kind. 

The professor ghost used charades to tell me he used to teach ghoul studies. I asked him a few questions about the Battle of Hogwarts and all that, and then noticed that he had a cat with him. They seemed very close. Imagine being so close with your familiar that they’re there when you die! I read that Egyptians liked to be buried with their cats, I think because they’re meant to be protective. It makes sense if I think about it since Puck has been very sweet and protective towards me. Whenever I’ve felt sad or homesick, he’s come to my side. 

Then the other ghost, Castiel, asked me to guess how old he was. His appearance suggested the victorian era. He said he was born in 1895, and told me to stay away from vampires. I assume that’s how he died, but I know better than to ask. 

Jane joined us at one point, said hi, and then left, Marigold and Anton also visited, and then Deputy Headmistress Blightly arrived. She asked if we could speak, so we stepped into the hallway. Well, speak is a funny choice of word, because she had lost her voice to the organ. So it was more like… I was speaking, and she was using her wand to write words in the air. At first, I thought maybe Bonnie had said something to the professor, but actually, it was Essa! I had sent her a letter as well, and Blightly began asking me why I’d told Essa to avoid Vikander’s class. I told her I was a seer and she… immediately believed me. Just like Bonnie had. I’m starting to wonder if the curse of foresight is real, after all. 

Anyways, I told her I had a vision in my dream, and she asked me to describe it, so I did. I told her about Vikander, the organ, the statue - everything. All the while, the organ was using the voices it had stolen to make creepy choir music, laugh, and basically create enough nightmares for me to last a lifetime. It even shouted! But then, it got worse…

It spoke to me in my mother’s voice… Called me Bumblebee, told me it needed me to go to the clocktower. I thought for a second that it had gotten her, that I had to go rescue her. Its voice pulled me like a fish on a line! If Professor Blightly hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would’ve done… I might’ve run down there and lost my voice just like she had! She had to do a lot to convince me to stay put. It even made me hear my mother screaming, asking for help. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sound. Essa walked me to the hospital wing so I could get a calming draught because the sounds were making me hysterical, and I also got a pair of the special earmuffs we wear when we handle mandrakes. Taking Cheryl’s advice, I also got a bottle of sleeping draught and dreamless sleep, because I sure as heck wasn’t going to fall asleep and not have nightmares without it. 

Essa mentioned having the ‘Sight’ as she put it, which I asked her about. She told me the future comes to her, which means… When Bonnie told me I wasn’t the only seer in the school, she was right. Of course, I told Essa that I also get the visions. It’s nice to know that I’m not alone.

So as you can tell, there has been a lot of good, and bad these past few days. Other than all of that happening, Bobby gave me his scarf, which was very kind of him because it was honestly freezing in the dueling room, surrounded by all of those ghosts. There’s something very… sweet and heartwarming about knowing that the scarf I’m wearing belongs to a dear friend. Honestly though, I felt like my fingers were going to fall off by the end of the party! I also sent a lot of pumpkin grams to my friends, but I haven’t gotten any yet. I wonder if I will. I think that’s all I have. My wrists hurt pretty bad and I’m completely exhausted, so I’m going to go to bed now, and think of what I want to do when Hallowe’en (or Samhain!) finally arrives.

Much love, Everly

About the Character: Everlina Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Katherine! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

[beestung2025-blog]

Throw Me Down

‘That bitch,’ Tom Riddle seethed, seated at his desk in the private Slytherin Head Boy dormitory. And to his misfortune, as the Head Girl wasn’t Slytherin, the newest ‘guest’ of Slytherin House was put in the private room that should have been empty. He was supposed to have the entire dorm floor to himself.

But no, the frizzy haired know-it-all refugee from the continent made the pampered pureblood princesses feel unsafe after her first night waking up screaming from nightmares, wand drawn to fight some imagined adversary. Tom knew was shell shock was, and that the girl was clearly suffering from some form of it. Several of the smaller children at Wool’s Orphanage, where he had lived since infancy, developed it after the firebombing in London. That was another sore spot for Tom, the lack of help and assistance from anyone in the Wizarding World when London nearly fell to the Krauts, and the city mostly destroyed by bombing. No, Tom couldn’t possibly be allowed to stay safe in the Highlands of Scotland, supplied with nutritious foods that simply weren’t available on the muggle rations. Albus fucking Dumbledore ensured Tom Marvolo Riddle would rot at that damn orphanage.

Tom continued playing with his quill, the leather bound journal that his Grandmother Riddle had gave him when he was accepted to Hogwarts open on his desk. Not that anyone knew of the arrangement his paternal grandmother had with Wool’s Orphanage. Mary Riddle had found Tom’s mother Merope purely by chance while volunteering with one of the London Hospitals, and when Merope died from internal hemorrhaging, Mary arranged for Tom to be sent to Wool’s Orphanage. Despite her pleas, her husband and son refused to even see the abomination, as they called the infant Tom and his mother. After that point, Mary Riddle concealed from the her family what she did in London. They thought her to still be volunteering at the hospital, when in reality she spent her two days a week, Wednesdays and Sundays caring for Tom as a baby, tutoring the boy as he grew up, and taking him to church every Sunday. She wasn’t a particularly warm woman, Mary Riddle, but she had a sense of duty and liked her strange and quiet grandson that looked just like his father, despite the air of strangeness that obviously came from Merope’s family. When young Tom informed her of his acceptance to Hogwarts, Mary returned the next visit with the leather bound journal stamped with his name in gold leaf. It was one of the few times she showed true tenderness with him, finally understanding why he had been such a strange child with disturbing reports from the matron of the orphanage. Mary Riddle had tucked some money into the journal, an agreement between her and her husband. She could no longer see the child, but she could give him money for his education. It was the last time Tom has seen his grandmother until he killed the Riddles the previous summer.

Tom leaned back in his chair, hand ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair. The hum of the journal below and the ring on his finger calmed him, being together with the blackest magic he used to fly from death, his horcruxes. He had the idea of Vol-de-mort during the London Blitz, imagining that if he could only find the right magic, he could just fly from the death that rained from the skies the entire winter holiday he was forced to be away from Hogwarts and in the heart of the firebombing while they reinforced the warding of the school. He turned 14 that winter, and in less than 2 years, he’d found the magic he needed to protect himself from the senseless, gory, and violent deaths the muggles were so fond of inflicting on each other. Magic was much more elegant as a solution. He slightly conflicted about having killed his Grandmother Riddle, when his stupid muggle father bragged how she’d been the one to ensure he had any money at all as if it were up to him, Tom Riddle Sr, he would have ignored the abomination. However, Tom had no idea how to perform necromancy and couldn’t raise her. He was displeased she felt that money was more important than having family, or what it would be like for him when she simply stopped coming, and how the other orphans bullied him for it. Tom continued on with his mission, using the ring he’d stolen from his insane maternal uncle to create his second horcrux from the murder of his father and using his cooling corpse for the ritual.

But that girl! Tom pulled at his hair before growling in frustration. He had no idea why she enjoyed having odd philosophical conversations that inevitably would leave him lingering over the old, scarred memories of his past. It’s like the bitch was a Legilimens, prying his secrets out of his head-- except Tom knew that his occlumency walls protecting his mind had not been breached. Strange, strange bitch. He wanted her gone, back to whatever European pissant country she crawled out of with her near perfect OWL scores and getting Slughorn to agree to sponsor her refugee status! Everywhere he turned, she was there. With her nervous brown eyes that seems to move too quickly and never retain eye contact, she was constantly taking the opposite stance of whatever he said, be it in class or in the Slytherin Common room. Their own little sitting area at the landing where the doors to their private dormitories was the only place she even gave the hint of being vulnerable, as they both knew she was at night. Hermione Granger had woken up the whole of Slytherin House her first night and cursed two of her dormmates that tried to wake her.

So now the bitch was encroaching on his hard earned solitude. He did have the private Head Boy suite, for which he was grateful. He hated sharing, especially with the cruel boys at the orphanage that never let go of the fact he had a family that didn’t want him. The bigoted pureblood boys at Hogwarts were so easy to bend to his will with magic, but he still had to share until this year. Well, until this bint came along. At least he set one thing straight when he had been forced to escort her and her things to the empty Head Girl Suite, next to his own: Silencing charms were to be used at all times.

“It will be safer for everyone” Slughorn told him greasily, trying to explain to Tom the necessity. “You can stop her from accidentally hurting someone-- you understand what this … uh.. Condition… is that she has”

“You mean shell shock, Professor? It is well documented in the muggle world. I’m surprised wizards haven’t caught on to the effects of trauma on the brain, be it magical or muggle.” Tom sniffed, trying not to sneer at the stupidity. Of course it was bloody shell shock; she claimed her family was killed and she had been fleeing the fighting for months. Given the state she was in, it was clear she suffered from battle trauma and had been malnourished for months. Granted a few potions from the matron in the hospital wing and the girl was back to whatever was her normal health.

Hermione Granger was skinny, but had a decent shape when she ditched the black school robes over the rest of her uniform. Smallish breasts, wide hips… Tom rather liked her hips, but it was her ass that was divine. She either had no propriety or was very loose with how often she simply bent over, displaying that divine ass, to the entirety of the male population. There were already several betting pools as to her sexual experience, and when/who will get the chance to fool around with her first. Tom had observed this again during their last heated exchange in front of their suites. Hermione fucking Granger was doggedly prattling on about creature rights and witches’ rights and well, to be honest Tom stopped listening, enjoying the rosy color on her cheeks from her passionate discourse, and the magic that gathered and sparked in her unmanageable hair. Even her golden skin seem to glow with her angered magic as she realized Tom wasn’t listening.

“You bloody prat! You just don’t care about other living souls do you? How much of a soul do you even have?” Hermione hissed angrily, wrenching open her door and slamming it shut behind her. It seemed that simply letting her go on with her chatter tuning her out and evaluating her body was the way to irritate her the quickest. He’d never met a girl who was so uncomfortable with flirting or her own prowess. She was a very powerful witch, he could feel it when they spared in Defense Against the Dark Arts (again, because it was ‘safest’ as he was the top of the year and in all the classes. No longer did he get to duel the teacher, now he dueled the refugee to supposedly keep her in check, but the witch had more control than anyone gave her credit for and actively held back on her spells. It was frustrating because he couldn’t understand why or why he even cared.)

That comment about souls though… that is what sent him into his room for the peace and solitude with his horcruxes. No one knows about them. How could they? The only witnesses are dead.

Tom’s head snapped up-- was that a noise? That frustrating bint better not have forgotten the silencing spells he demanded she use every night. He felt it was silly for refusing Dreamless Sleep due to the addictiveness, but forgetting the silencing spells after refusing Dreamless Sleep was against his rules. Nobody was ever quite the same after crossing him, Tom smirked.

There it was again, the noise. But it was still quiet-- not in the way that it sounds when silencing spells start to fail however. It wasn’t muffled screaming..

‘Was that a moan?’ Tom thought wildly, smirking to himself. He was quite familiar with those types of sighs and moans, though the girls he used never remembered it afterwards. Tom got up from his desk, moving to the otherside that was flush with the wall, pressing his ear to the wall, wondering who would be winning the betting pools. He ran the pools with a Hufflepuff as a catspaw, so he’d be getting galleons no matter who won. Tom did find it amusing that he himself had the best odds by a long shot for getting into her knickers. A breathy moan caught his attention again and he focused on trying to figure out who was in there and how the hell she could have gotten someone in past him. Her quick, rapid breaths sounded so close; Tom had to wonder where the Head Girl’s suite might share a wall with his own.

“Ohhhh… gods…” Hermione’s voice groaned before letting out a high pitched whine, punctuated with her breaths. Tom couldn’t help it, feeling himself getting hard with her performance and imagining her ass in front of him. He adjusted his trousers and pressed closer to the wall.

“Oh oh please.. oh pleasee” She repeated her mantra like her life depended on it, the begging turning Tom on further. He always felt magnificent when someone begged him, but he never considered having a girl beg him in bed. Normally Tom just hit them with a silencio and got to his business. He didn’t want to deal with the clinging and petting he saw other students getting up to; like he’d let anyone touch his body as if they owned it. He could see in the minds of the pathetic girls how much they wanted him, to show him off like a status symbol to their friends, to have Head Boy Tom Riddle, Brightest Wizard of the Century, in their bed, regardless of boyfriends or betrothals. It disgusted him.

“Fuck… I… fuck!” Hermione’s voice screamed, surprising Tom out of his reverie. Like the flip of a switch, he was annoyed. The bint never put up silencing charms and was clearly a hussy who couldn’t keep her legs closed. The second thought annoying Tom for how much it irritated him. He shoved off from the wall and angrily stalked out of his suite and slammed his fist on the door, announcing “Head Boy” before using the spell he was given in case Hermione was having an episode and Tom needed to get into her suite. There were panicked rummaging sounds from the bedroom that Tom strode towards, an ugly sneer maring his beautiful face. He wrenched the door open, to find a very naked Hermione struggling to put on a robe she’d gotten tangled in her hurry.

“RIDDLE!” Hermione shrieked, attempting to cover herself and turning around not realizing it was her bare ass that now screamed for his attention. Apparently she’d been pleasuring herself, a thought which fuzzily beat itself around his head as he stared at her ass, struggling to refocus and marshal himself.

“WOULD YOU STOP LOOKING YOU CREEP!” Hermione screamed at him, finally getting the robe untangled and covering herself. Tom merely smirked and leaned against the door frame, as if he simply belonged there in her room.

“What are you even doing in here, how did you even get it? You didn’t even give me the chance to properly get the door!” Hermione glared at him, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him. Tom remained smirking, enjoying the irritation that made her flushed, post orgasmic skin glow the brighter.

“Well? Are you going to answer me you pervert?” Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise when Tom moved quicker than she thought possible, grabbing her hair and exposing her throat, his wand digging into her neck.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing, Riddle?” She asked fearfully, her anger slipping away as terror filled her. She stupidly assumed she’d be safe at Hogwarts until she could support herself and disappear into the past. She just needed her NEWTs and the Ministry insisted she take the 7th year at Hogwarts when she came claiming refugee status from Italy. In reality, she’d performed a highly illegal ritual with the sand from a time turner, unable to live in a world in which both sides lost and leaving her utterly alone. Some forged paperwork, and there she was, ward of Professor Slughorn and sorted into Slytherin. Somehow, for some reason she wasn’t quite sure of, Tom Riddle aka Voldemort was threatening her while she was unarmed and practically naked. Yet as she stared up into his fathomless dark eyes, her pulse quickened and she could feel the tell tale ache within her that something about this turned her on. The most surprising part was she wasn’t alone, somehow incredibly he was aroused. How the hell? Hermione knew she was nothing much to look at; she’d heard all of her life how undesirable she was. Her terror became tinged with lust, a heady combination the Head Boy induced in her. Then as suddenly as he’d caught her to threaten her, his fist tightened as he smirked. Tom stowed his want in his pocket, never letting go of her hair in his other hand, gently tracing the lines of her neck.

“Miss Granger, what a slut you are.” Tom answered her smoothly, bending his head down to breathe in the scent of her hair. Hermione jerked but couldn’t free herself.

“I am no such thing . This is my room. Get out.” Hermione tried to respond coldly, but Riddle was distracting her with his overwhelming presence and hands on her and how much her old friends would hate her for her weakness. Her weakness in which she had to relieve some of the stress and she couldn’t help it when her thoughts turned to him as she came. She felt like a filthy traitor to them, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You forgot your silencing charms, Miss Granger. It is my duty to ensure no harm comes to you. You know Slughorn asked me to, it was when we first met.” Tom looked at her, taking in the heat that was creeping into her eyes, mixing delightfully with the terror he induced. Was she… did she like this? Did girls enjoy this?

Hermione gulped audibly, knowing what a fuss he’d made about her using silencing charms if she wouldn’t take the Dreamless Sleep potion. Tom traced the movement on her throat.

“Tell me, Hermione… does this excite you?” Tom purred in her ear, enjoying the electric feeling of her emotional magic escaping through her hair against his cheek.

“This is just entirely inappropriate Riddle. You need to leave. I am sorry about forgetting my charms. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Hermione closed her eyes and wished she felt anything but the odd sensation of lust and fear and excitement.

“I don’t think I will.” Tom smirked, flicking up a silencing charm before stowing his wand again and resuming his tracing of her neck and beautiful clavicle. What lovely bones she has .

“This is wrong, Riddle. You don’t even like me.” Hermione tried stepping away only to find her hair yanking her back to where she was, forcing her neck back even further. Tears stung her eyes.

“S-stop, Riddle. You’re hurting me.” Hermione whispered, defeated.

“I could stop. And I could leave. But I don’t think I will, because you like this Miss Granger. I can feel your pulse quicken. Your breath hitches every time I do this,” Tom deftly slid his hand over her throat and her breath did indeed catch. “I can see the lust in your eyes, and the begging-- Tell me, Miss Granger, do you like to beg?”

“No! I don’t! And you need to leave!” Hermione’s voice quavered.

“I heard you begging before. Who were you begging?” Tom’s normal tenor took on a darker, deeper pitch as he pressed himself into the soft witch, chuckling at her jump of surprise as his now terribly hard cock was jutting into her hip. Oh those lovely hips.

“N-no one. There was no one.” Hermione admitted in a small voice, in utter shock at Tom’s behavior. The school was rife with rumors and all of them eventually ended with Tom preferred to focus on his studies to provide for his future wife, as the girls told it at least. Sweet Orphan Tom Riddle wanted to do his best so he could have his own family some day. Hermione nearly gagged when she was told, knowing what the Dark Lord he would turn into. How could she have been so blind? Teenage Tom Riddle was like any boy with hormones. It just wasn’t fair with how tall and handsome he was, the way he instinctively knew how to turn her on in ways she didn’t even know yet.

“Pleasuring yourself then? How wanton, little slut. I do say I prefer it over… other options.” Tom continued what had to have been the most surreal conversation of her life. Her naked body was only separated from Tom Riddle by her thin robe, with his hand gripping her hair, her head bent back to an almost painful position, and his body pressed into her while he gently touched her with those elegant long fingers of his. Her core clenched when she thought of what else he could do to her with those fingers. Tom didn’t miss the flash of her eyes though.

“Yes, I would say you prefer it as well. But why beg when there’s no one listening? Did you forget your silencing spell on purpose? Beg me to help you?” Tom grinned to himself as he finally let his hand slide lower, tracing her lovely defined collar bone to the edge of her robe, where he played dipping one long finger under the collar.

“No! I would never! I didn’t mean to forget!” Hermione struggled again, succeeding in grinding Tom’s erection into her hip and Tom’s hand gripping her robe before slipping inside and around her back pulling her closer to him. His bare hand was on her and she felt like she was on fire; she couldn’t help but squirming. She stopped suddenly when Tom groaned into her hair, his dick seemed impossibly harder and bigger and he’s grabbed her hip with a bruising force.

“Who were you begging, Hermione? I won’t ask again.” Tom growled, his voice gravely with his own arousal.

“It wasn’t supposed to be you.” Hermione answered timidly, closing her eyes and feeling the rush of a hot blush flow through her.

“Not supposed to be me?” Tom asked, amused and enjoying the extensiveness of her blush. He needed to get the robe off of her. He wanted all of her right now.

“I just… it’s what I do to calm down. The PTSD--” Hermione stopped, embarrassed.

“PTSD?” Tom asked, prodding her story along.

“I mean shell shock. Everything’s so stressful. I just wanted to not be stressed for a moment.” Hermione admitted, thoroughly embarrassed.

“I understand some of the ramifications of shell shock, Hermione.” Tom eased his grip on her hip and began rubbing small circles with his thumb. “Other children at the Orphanage have it, from the Blitz. I am very aware of how it can manifest differently.”

“I-- I had no idea you were still there during the bombing, didn’t they evacuate?” Hermione’s gaze met Tom’s, her natural state of logic and how the world should work coloring her words, her embarrassment at her current predicament melting away for a short moment. ‘She should have been a Gryffindor,’ Tom thought.

“No. They did not evacuate. If you need assistance, Hermione…” Tom used his Head Boy voice, the warmth of which was at complete odds with his tight grip in her hair and possessive arm threaded through her robe onto her bare skin that was flushed and inviting under his touch.

“I--No! This is wrong.” Hermione maintained, being still and slamming her eyes shut as she couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t bear to look at his playful smirk or think about how very long it had been since she last enjoyed the pleasures of someone else in her bed.

“Is it? You do know, Hermione, that I know you hold back when casting. You could have easily changed this to a duel. Instead you play the frightened rabbit for me. More’s the pity, I like your fire, witch.” Tom let go of Hermione abruptly, making her stagger a bit.

“Frightened rabbit, Riddle? I don’t even have my wand on me and you know it.” Hermione’s shock turned quickly into righteous anger. She held out a hand to summon it, but Tom beat her to it and accio’d it right off of her nightstand.

“Little rabbit, you don’t need your wand. You should be more careful of who observes you when you think you’re alone” Tom smirked, twirling her wand in his fingers before pocketing it with his own wand. Hermione fumed and her entire person seemed to vibrate with unspent magic.

“Would you like me to help you calm you down now? I can think of a few ways…” Tom grinned before ducking as Hermione sent a knock-back jinx at him.

“So she finally uses her fangs. Good, you’re not entirely useless.” Tom rolled his eyes and stepped towards her again.

“Why, you--” Hermione shrieked before unleashing a torrent of jinxes and curses, some light, some grey and a few that surprised Tom with how dark they were. Clearly her anger was fueling her magic allowing it to flow as easily as if she had her wand. Tom nearly groaned at his mistake. Now he actually had to calm her down before she went on some rampage through the Slytherin dungeons.

“Miss Granger--” Tom began as he drew his wand to defend himself.

“Evil, Stupid, Misogynistic BASTARD!” Hermione yelled as she conjured her signature canaries before having them attack. Tom slashed his wand in the air casting a Finite.

“HERMIONE.” Tom thundered, a black expression coming over his face and terror rooting Hermione in her spot, the power and dominance he was displaying most inconveniently making him look even more handsome with the angelic face, like perhaps Zeus would have looked like in human form. No wonder how he tricked all those maidens.

“I appreciate that you know how to fight back. That was the intent of my comment. You are not useless and you know it, or I wouldn’t be monitoring your shell shock for Slughorn.” Tom ran a hand through his hair, the neat curls in disarray from their duel. Hermione merely narrowed her eyes and pulled her robe closer around her. What was she to say? She had nothing, so she just turned her back to him wishing he would leave. She just couldn’t bear to fight any longer. She’d lost everything, she just wanted a shred of normalcy for a change. But why was she fighting a fight that hadn’t started and she wasn’t going to be a part of again. She wasn’t going to lose everyone again, to Dumbledore or to Voldemort. But this boy? He was just Tom Riddle, she realized.

“I’m sorry for my behavior earlier; I was clearly mistaken.” Tom said, slightly unsure what to do with a silent witch that wasn’t under a spell. Crying he could deal with, but he was rather unnerved by her silence. Hermione cleared her throat and turned back around, robe wide open. Tom’s jaw dropped.

“You were, but I think I’ll take you up on your offer. To calm me down.” Hermione smirked as she put her hands on her hips. Future Dark Lord or not, he was still a teenage boy with hormones. She could have this. She could give herself this. Hermione nearly laughed at how much she’d throw him off, as he gulped audibly.

“Miss Granger, you really should rest. Don’t want to do anything you might regret in the morning.” Tom nodded to her and turned for the door when a light stinging hex caught his shoulder and he growled, rounding on Hermione.

“What was that for?” He ground out, trying to resist the urge to shake the insane witch.

“Oh that was for rescinding your offer. I didn’t appreciate it.” Hermione sniffed dramatically, folding her arms across her still open robe, drawing Tom’s eye no matter how much he was trying not to stare openly at her. Unlike any girl or woman he’d had thus far, Hermione shaved . And it was clear she was turned on by their little interaction. Tom needed a moment to process the information he was trying to absorb but Hermione closed the distance between them. She walked up to him and took him by his green and silver tie, tugging on it gently, and leading him towards her bed.

“I know about the betting pool, you know. I actually influenced some of the odds.” Hermione said conversationally while she undid Tom’s tie as he stared rather bewildered at her and unsure if he took advantage of the situation, it would ruin his relationship with Slughorn-- whom he needed for his connections.

“Did you?” Tom asked meekly, still evaluating the situation.

“Oh yes, I don’t just take anyone to bed.” Hermione smirked as she tugged his tie off and started on his shirt, little silver snake cufflinks holding the french cuffs together.

“So you’re saying I’m special then?” Tom smirked and felt more in his element, repeating a line he gave out when he was looking for an attractive body to settle his needs. He brought his hands to her shoulders, rubbing circles on her collarbone with his thumbs, easing the rest of his hands under her robe.

“Special enough. We haven’t gotten to the main event-- then you’ll need to impress me.” Hermione winked as she placed the cufflinks on her side table and worked on his front placket.

“Are you challenging me, Granger?”

“Absolutely Tom. Though you won’t earn any points calling me ‘Granger’ during sex.” Hermione laughed, and he couldn’t help himself and chuckled as well.

“I see your point, Hermione.” Tom smiled one of his signature flirting smiles that never failed to bring a girl to her knees… except this one.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Riddle.” Hermione glared, in mock anger.

“Oh? But I thought you wanted this?” Tom withdrew his hands to Hermione’s protests. There was a bit of a knot in her shoulder and he had been doing a great job easing it out. Hermione, hands still on his shirt ripped as hard as she could and with a nonverbal ‘Diffindo’ for good luck, she tore his shirt open, buttons flying.

“Don’t underestimate me Tom.” Hermione said, eyes narrowed.

“Never said I was.” Tom returned, eyebrow raised.

“Good. Now throw me down and fuck me like you mean it.”

[tindomielsilverthorn]

Calling a Truce

This next chapter is a collaboration with my wonderful husband, @thebiganvil.

Find the full storyline here: Iasea Storyline

The hulking man stood in the doorway, reading over the note in his hand again. He seemed to be debating the best course of action. If he went straight to Forosuul, the man would likely leave straightaway to take matters into his own hands. And Alsa would be hurt. But if he told Alsa first, she would want to go and see what could be done. And the Patriarch will be angry with him. There’s no winning here. No choice that resolves things. He sighed heavily and stepped into the small cottage he shared with his mate.

The space was cozy and comfortable, all decorated with Alsabe’s beautiful wall hangings that made the space bright and joyful. He spotted her plucking leaves into a bowl, her soft, silver-white hair tumbling down her back. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gave her the gentlest of squeezes to get her attention. 

“Big Bear!” She jumped up and hugged him tightly, her task forgotten. She kissed him happily before pulling back to see his concerned face. “What’s wrong, Dæ?”

He set her back down on her feet and lumbered over to a chair. “Sit down, beautiful. Please.” He indicated the chair across from him. She did as he requested, her brow furrowing. He placed the parchment in front of her, giving her some time to read it.

“She wants me to meet with her? At the Blue Recluse?” She read it again, her confusion only building. 

“This could be a trap, Alsa. But it might be what she is offering too. Just to talk. It’s a very public place, so I would think it might not be too bad,” he offered. His eyes were sad, knowing the pain this whole situation had brought everyone.

She stared at the paper, nodding. “I’m going.” She set her features and stood. Without further discussion, she started changing into her fighting kit. As she wrapped the adorned belt about her waist, Dæsin’s heavy hand pulled her backwards against him. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning down, he kissed the top of her head.

“Not alone, beautiful. Let me come with you,” he held her still, forcing her to talk it through. She tried to push free to keep dressing, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to talk. He knew she would do this, so he held her close, keeping his voice gentle. “Alsa, please. I could never forgive myself if something happened. And your father won’t forgive me for telling you. Please.”

She sighed, accepting his request. They dressed together and stepped out side. Dæsin closed his eyes, opened his arms wide and shifted into the form of a large grey owl. He lowered his belly to the ground and she pulled herself up onto his back. Once she had settled, he took flight and headed to the Shrine and the portals.

Dæsin nodded as he let his form morph into a large cat. He bumped her side, purring before shimmering out of view. He stalked off a bit away, hopefully out of notice and waited. Alsabe drew the shadows around herself, preparing for a fight that she was uncertain would come. The district was busy as usual, people coming and going from shops, the tavern and the mage tower. A drunk man wandered a little too close to her. Moments later the same man could be heard cursing a blue streak while spinning around to find the cause of his now shredded trousers. A small smile cracked Alsa’s features as she shook her head. The amusement was short lived as a familiar head of pink hair moved into view. 

Iasea Moonwhisper approached slowly, looking around. She spotted her target and walked up, keeping her hands in full view. As she stepped in front of Alsabe, she bowed her smile quickly fading. The shadows around Alsa pulsed as she eyed Iasea warily. Iasea watched Alsabe, surprised.  “You were expecting me to fight with you? Here?”

“You attacked my niece not far from here, in broad daylight,” Alsabe spat.

“I attacked no one,” she responded calmly.

The younger woman narrowed her pale violet eyes. “Fine,” she clipped. “Your people did.” She turned her back and walked inside to order herself something to calm her nerves.

Iasea gestured to an empty table and found a chair for herself. “I came to call a truce, Alsabe. Will you sit with me?” She indicated the chair beside her. I’m going to have to work for this. Damn.

Alsabe sighed. “Very well,” she responded, dismissing the shadow. 

For the first time that day, Iasea could see her clearly. The halter top, thigh high leggings and a detailed belt. The entire look designed to accentuate Alsabe’s full hips and chest. Iasea, unable to stop herself,  chuckled. Alsabe frowned at her. “I see some things haven't changed,” she indicated the way the younger elf was dressed.

“A lot about me has changed, Iasea. You can blame your former matron for that.”

“Who our House served was not my choice,” she sighed.

“I don't remember you protesting,” Alsabe sneered.

“What would have been the point,” Iasea asked. “Min'da made the decisions. The best I could do was work with what was available.” Alsabe nodded, conceding the point. She picked up her drink and took a slow sip. “You were her favorite, I don't know what you are complaining about.”

Alsabe eyes widened. “Her what,” she asked incredulously.

“Her favorite,” came the fit reply. Alsabe looked both shocked and outraged. “You were the one she counted on. You always got things done.”

Alsabe glared at her. “I hope, Iasea, that someday you know how it feels to be the favorite of someone like her.” Her voice dripped with hatred. “I really, really do.”

“I tried,” she sighed. “Never managed to get her to look at me the same way.”

“Lucky you,” Alsa stated bitterly, looking away.

Iasea shook her head. “You seem to have done quite well for yourself now. Unlike the rest of us.”

“Blame her for that too, she cast me out.” 

“So you are unhappy then?” She seemed surprised. All indications were that she was being absolutely spoiled in her new home. Could I find another way to make you miserable? I wonder…

“I am unhappy my niece was nearly killed,” she snapped. Taking a breath, she managed to level out her voice. “Other than that, no, not even a little.”

“I'm not exactly happy that my entire family is dead.”

“I am,” Alsa smirked, crossing her arms in front of her.

Iasea sighed. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, truly.”

“Why did you try to kill her?” Alsabe stared at her once sister. “Kalimè did nothing to you.”

Iasea’s voice grew quiet. “And I did nothing to this House of yours. Yet I am the one who suffers.”

Alsabe scowled. “Kasuura murdered my sister's mother. Ufnas and Shefyura helped her do it.”

“They did,” Iasea confirmed. 

“Our people thought you innocent of it, so they let you go.”

“Min'da was obsessed with getting back into Mire's graces,” she replied in surrender.

“Well, perhaps she is, as the two of them roam the netherworld together,” she muttered.

“I heard Mire died as well. But no one seems to want to tell me what happened,” she pried, hoping Alsabe would give her something of use. “To either of them.”

Alsabe smirked, “They crossed my father.” She gave the older woman nothing more.

“There's nothing left, Alsabe,” she whispered. “Everything is gone. I lashed out, it was horrible. I am sorry for it.”

Alsabe narrowed her eyes. “...what are you saying?”

“What I did was wrong and I am sorry. This is done with.”

“You're sorry…” she repeated dubiously.

“I am sorry for sending people after the young one,” she amended quietly.

“What did you think you were going to accomplish?”

“I don't know! Make you hurt as much as I did?” Her ice blue eyes, searched Alsa’s pale face. It was so unlike her own pink one. “Make you understand what it feels like to have nothing and no one. Permanently?”

Alsabe face hardened. “I faced that a long time ago, Iasea. I spent my life hurting, until Kajeda took me in.”

Iasea nodded. “But you still had a place to live. Clothes, food, people who would get whatever you needed.”

“Would you rather they had killed you?”

“Since the world tree burned,” she whispered. “Very much so.” Alsabe eye twitched. “I was a fool. I let myself be bitter and horrible, just like Min'da was. And now? Now I really know what it's like to feel alone. And with no chance of seeing our home again. I see our people hurting and I think it would be better if I did something...I don't know, better than what I was doing?” Alsabe looked confused. It’s working. If I just keep playing on her sympathies, I’ll have her. Iasea sniffled a little. "I just wanted you to know that I am not going to harm anyone else in your family.”

Alsa watched her in silence for a long few minutes. Very quietly she asked, “Are you expecting this to simply be forgiven?”

Iasea shook her head. “No. But I am hoping that maybe I can give you something in return.”

“What could you possibly offer?”

Iasea withdrew a piece of paper from her pocket. “The names of the three men I paid.”

Alsabe frowned. “You will give them up?”

Iasea placed the parchment on the table and slid it over to her with a single finger. “If I turn them over to you, I cannot ever use them against your family again.”

“Why, Iasea, what do you hope to gain?”

“Nothing. I just want to put it all behind me.” Alsabe looked uncertain, but lifted the note from the table. “What else can I do…sister?”

Alsabe eyes flashed a darker shade of purple. “I am not your sister,” came her guttural reply.

“Not by my choice.”

“My sister is the one whose child you tried to murder.” Iasea nodded, casting her eyes to the table. “I was cast aside, you did not reach out, you never even asked if I was all right.”

“I was forbidden to do so,” she offered quietly.

Alsabe frowned. “Where is this coming from. Iasea?  It’s not like we were close before,” she stated, looking at the names on the paper in her hand.

“Maybe that is the very problem. We never got close. Isn't that what sisters are supposed to be,” she asked gently.  “Maybe we missed out on something and Min'da's cruelty dug in too deep.” Alsabe looked troubled as Iasea shifted in the ill fitted robe. Iasea looked at her hands before returning her gaze to Alsabe. “I don't expect you will forgive me. But I hope you will trust that this is over. There will be no more threats, no more attempts on anyone.”

Alsabe rubbed her eyes. “ Iasea…” Iasea let her breath catch in her throat. Alsabe waved the note at her. “I will give them your peace offering, but...Papa does not forgive. There will be a price for what you did.”

Iasea stood and held out her hands. “You are looking at everything I have.” Alsabe looked stricken but tried to hide it. Iasea gestured to herself, “This...this is the entirety of the House of Moonwhisper. All the members, all the funding, everything.” Iasea flopped down into the chair, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Alsabe’s voice cracked slightly. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“You feel whatever you want to feel. I am merely telling you how things stand. If there is a price to be paid, he will have to take it from me. There's nothing else.”

“It won't be money, Iasea. Papa takes payment in blood.”

Iasea held out her wrists. Her voice was quiet, resigned. “Then let him take it.” Alsabe recoiled, unprepared for that response. “I don't know what else I can do or say. If I must pay for what I did, and the price if in blood, then take it.”

“It is not my place. Papa will decide what to do.”

Iasea's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. “I will be in the survivor's camp on the other side of the city.”

Alsabe waved the note again. “This may buy you some measure of mercy.” She looked the other woman over. “Have you eaten?” Iasea shook her head. At that, Alsabe asked the server to bring over a small meal. The other started to argue, but Alsabe insisted.

Iasea nodded her gratitude. “Is she all right? The young one, I mean.”

“She will be, she has had a team of healers on her day and night. The Silverthorns take care of their own.”

“That is good,” she whispered.

“If she died, you understand, nothing would save you,” Alsa told her. “No power in this world.”

“Like Min’da?”

“Worse.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” she countered. She nodded her thanks at the server placing the sandwich in front of her. Alsabe’s face hardened. “I don't know what was done to her, only that she was killed.”

“Pray you never do,” Alsa answered coldly.

“Who did it?”

“That is not for me to say.” Iasea sighed, and tugged on the dress again, trying to get it to sit more comfortably. Alsabe looked Iasea over. “You keep picking at that dress.”

“It doesn't fit right,” she replied quietly. “It's not mine. My clothes were destroyed escaping the tree.”

“Where did you get it?”

“One of the other survivors.” She picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

“Did you steal it,” Alsa accused her.

Iasea scowled and shook her head. “No. They gave some of their clothes to the healers.” Alsabe gazed at Iasea impassively for a moment. “It's fine. At least it's better than the singed one I had on.”

“I shall give your message to my family,” Alsa sighed. 

“Thank you Alsabe. Please, let them all know that I mean them no more harm. Nor you.”

“I can't be sure how they will react,” she responded. “Well, except in the case of your friends,” she smirked, brandishing the note. “I hope you weren’t fond of them.”

“I will take my meal and go sit back at the camp then. I wouldn't want to ruin any appetite you may have. Be safe, Alsabe.”

Alsabe gazed at Iasea, looking conflicted. “Where are you sleeping, Iasea?”

“At the camp. There's some soft patches on the ground that the druids have created. I will be fine.”

Alsabe reached into a purse and pulls out a few gold pieces, setting them on the table. “Get yourself a bed, Iasea.” Iasea shook her head, turning away. “Oh for Elune's sake don't argue.”

“Keep your money. I don't deserve it.” She stood and dusted the crumbs from the front of her dress. “Not after what I did.”

“I won't miss it, just take it.”

Iasea sighed and picked up the gold. “That is exceedingly generous of you.”

Alsabe chewed her lip. “I will try to convince my father to leave you alone for now.”

“Good night, Alsabe. Go home to your family. I won't trouble you again.”

Alsabe sighed and bowed. “Goodnight, Iasea,” she whispered. She turned and walked away as Iasea picked up the food on the table and wrapped it in a napkin. Once Alsabe was out of sight, she grinned like a cat. Go, little girl. Go off to your snug bed and think I am done with you.

[askcarlyle]

Askblog Halloween Special, Discord Edition Part 1

[As many of you are aware, our askblog collective also inhabits a TGS Discord server and occasionally participates in real-time RP threads. These scenarios run parallel to the events of the blogs and feature the same cast, but are usually not considered part of our official Tumblr timeline. Earlier this week, @askbarnum​, @askcharitybarnum​, @askstabbydeng​ and I collaborated on a Halloween special of sorts, which I am pleased to share with you now...]

Barnum 

-Strolls into the centre ring just as the troupe are packing up after an evening of rehearsing- 

Now I know that everyone is ready to head off, but I'd like to open up the opportunity to anyone feeling eager for an adventure. 

I have come into possession of a manor house that's supposedly haunted, it's going to be the biggest Halloween attraction in the city. I've got arrangements for tours and people in costumes. It's going to be spectacular, a huge hit with the kids. 

First I need to check out that it's a safe building so who's in the mood for a night away from home?

Carlyle

There's no such thing as ghosts. There is such a thing as a safety inspector, though. For the sake of avoiding lawsuits and identifying off-limits areas, I suppose I'm attending this excursion.

Barnum

You seem awfully sure in that statement. C'mon Phil, where's your sense of adventure. You can't sell the unusual if you don't believe in it. 

Pats him on the back affectionately as he waltzes past towards the exit 

Pack your bags troupe. We meet back here at 8pm sharp. Not a trip for the faint hearted.

Deng Yan

watching this exchange take place. Walks up to Phillip once Barnum leaves I would have to disagree, Carlyle. Spirits are a part of our world, just not one I am afraid of. Regardless, I suppose I should be in attendance. I am intrigued to see what exactly Barnum has in mind.

Carlyle

tries politely to conceal a disbelieving look I respect your beliefs, of course, Miss Yan, but have yet to witness anything that would persuade me otherwise. wanders off to prepare a bag

Barnum

-Eagerly checks his pocket watch, leaning against the tent entrance with a suitcase in hand, a few minutes before 8-

Carlyle

comes in dragging a large suitcase

Deng Yan

wanders up, arm in arm with Charity Mr Barnum. Mr Carlyle. Are we waiting for anyone else to join us this evening?

Carlyle

Do you suppose there will be running water?

Barnum

No no, I think you're the only three who signed up. Can't think why anyone would turn down such an opportunity. 

Glances at Phil and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

We are staying for one night, Phil. Why is your case so big? 

And no there won't be running water. The place is yet to be renovated, authenticity and all that. I've got a few pillows and blankets in the carriage already but that's really the extent of the luxuries. There's not even a privy. It'll be just like camping, except with an element of the supernatural.

Carlyle

greets Charity and Deng with a small bow and helps them with their bags

Charity

Well this will be fun

Carlyle

...camping? I should have packed more soap.

Barnum

Come along ladies, and gent. Leads the way out to the carriage and holds the door open for them You'll be fine, Phil. You don't need soap, there's unlikely a place to fill a bath tub.

Carlyle

rummages in suitcase and unpacks a pile of books regretfully I guess these can stay here for just one night.

Charity

How much reading were you planning on doing?

Carlyle

You never know.

Barnum

I have to question your logic sometimes.

Carlyle

The classics are never out of place.

Barnum

How many books are in there? Did you even pack a night shirt?

Deng Yan

Now, now. Do we really need to discuss Carlyle's sleeping attire?

Carlyle

Two, in fact. Options are good.

Barnum

Tw....never mind. Just. Let's go. 

Herds them into the carriage, Charity sat next to Deng and himself sitting next to Phil opposite the two ladies. Then taps the roof to get them started. 

I'm so glad you decided to join us too, Chairy.

Charity

I wouldn't miss this. I love old, haunted houses

Barnum

I'll be just like when we were young.

Charity

Exactly

Deng Yan

When you were young? I don't recall you telling this story before. settling back into the carriage I am also very glad of your company. My Rosie said she would prefer to stay at home in the warm tonight. I cannot think why. We have stayed in far colder places than this. smiles at Charity I needed the female company.

Carlyle

How did you find this place, anyway, PT?

...and being in the company of such fine ladies is always a delight, of course.

Barnum

I have my sources. gives Phil a wink and taps his nose knowingly 

They were selling it off extremely cheaply, no-one will purchase it because there has been so many occurrences of the supernatural. Also sixteen people were brutally murdered there. It used to be an orphanage! 

Pulls a handful of peanuts out of his pocket to snack on while they ride 

Have I really not told any stories about myself and Charity when we were children? She was quite the rebellious young girl. Always eager to sneak out. We'd go exploring in the night time and I was always seeking out abandoned places that we could run off to.

Charity

16 people?! Goodness...

Deng Yan

Why were people murdered in an orphanage?

Charity

Did no one think to check after the first murder?

Barnum

Minor details. Waves his hand dismissively

Carlyle

Murdered. looks appalled

Deng Yan

giggles into her hand at Charity's words

Charity

Maybe the seller was exaggerating a bit?

Deng Yan

No matter. I look forward to this.

Barnum

Picks up the candle lighting the inside of the carriage at night and holds it close to his face. 

It happened just over thirty years ago now. This orphanage was like no other, it was a place radiating cruelty and evil. Children preferred being sent to the workhouse to staying here. 

The matrons would beat the children for crying out for their parents, the beds were full of mould and disease spread every year leaving the children frail and ill. An awful place. 

And one night it got even worse...

Carlyle

shifts uncomfortably in seat and stares out window

Deng Yan

That sounds perfectly horrible.

Charity

....And?

Barnum

Takes off his hat slowly and places it in his lap, leaning the candle on the top. 

Lights out was at 8 o'clock. The children were marched to bed and locked in. Heavy wooden doors with large steel locks, the only person with a key was the matron. 

That night a man broke into the facility. Some say he was a victim of abuse at the home, returning to the place he was broken. Others say he was a maniac escaped from the asylum down town. Rumour has it he only had half a face. 

Runs his fingers down his face eerily for dramatic effect 

First he sliced the throat of the matron. 

Runs a finger across his throat 

Then he took her key then locked himself in the bedroom with the children. There were fifteen to a room and he killed them all. Reports say they were tortured into the night, poor souls. Police didn't find them until the next morning. The murderer had hung himself in the centre of the room surrounded by his victims. 

To this day no one knows why it happened. Some say they can still hear the sounds of the children crying for their mothers in the hallways.

Charity

I almost regret asking

Deng Yan

That... really is awful, if there is any truth in it.

Carlyle

continues looking out window, paleness probably just from the reflected moonlight

Deng Yan

Mr Carlyle, are you quite well?

Carlyle

coughs It's unfortunate. Unfortunate if the agent felt the need to concoct such a tale just to unload the property on a buyer known for his love of sensationalism.

Charity

Or we might hear the sounds of children crying tonight....

Barnum

Hangs the candle back in it's place 

Oh, the agent didn't say anything about that. He'd be an idiot if he did. I just stayed here for a few months when I was a boy. 

Watches the carriage come to a stop outside of a huge dark building, broken windows with a worn down playground. 

Oh we're here! C'mon, no time like the present. 

Cheerfully unlocks the door and climbs out to grab the bags.

Deng Yan

stares after Barnum for a moment before climbing down after him and offering a hand to Charity Are you quite sure you wish to stay here? You could take the carriage back to the circus?

Carlyle

remains sitting stiffly in carriage for a moment, blinking in obvious horror

Deng Yan

looks back into the carriage at Carlyle I meant you too. I wouldn't think any less of you if you chose not to stay.

Charity

has already set off towards the house

Carlyle

clears throat and scrambles out after Charity Safety protocols.

Deng Yan

takes her bag and follows after them

Charity

Watch out for the cobwebs!

Barnum

Turns around to watch them catch up, grinning in delight, then takes out a large metal key to unlock the huge front doors with a clunk. Waltzing inside the dust covered mansion and breathing in deeply with a look of excitement. 

Bit overgrown in places but it all adds to the effect doesn't it? Terribly creepy. It'll make the perfect attraction to terrify people. I think I'll line the floors with rubber for easy cleaning. 

Dumps his suitcase carelessly

Carlyle

...why do you anticipate there will be that much mess?

Charity

Because there's no light in here lights candle

Carlyle

hands Charity a lantern to set it in

Barnum

Thank you Charity. 

Picks up a lantern from the wall and lights it against hers too 

Leans close to Phil and lifts his chin with one finger to meet his gaze in the dim light. 

I anticipate because I know that I am very good at running a show. I already have several actors lined up and being fitted for outfits. People love to be frightened.

Deng Yan

wiping a trail of dust from the banister of the stairs, then blowing on her finger, watching the dust rise into the air How long did you say this place had been empty for?

Carlyle

shakes off the feeling of foreboding and hastily grabs another lantern, shining it into corners Long enough to develop a pest problem, it seems.

Barnum

Just over thirty years. They closed down very quickly after the unfortunate events. 

Jumps a little as a rat runs over his foot, grunting and stepping back 

Blegh. Looks like you're right. I'll get pest control in tomorrow.

Charity

So where are these ghosts you promised me?

Carlyle

bumps into Barnum when he jumps back, having been tailing him closely during their exploration Ack.

Barnum

Careful, Phil. 

Turns around to steady the younger man 

...You alright? You don't look yourself. Make sure you eat something, alright? 

Glances at Charity and cocks an eyebrow 

It's still early, and we're only in the lobby, Let's wander upstairs. We can stay in the murder room.

Charity

Ominous. Do you have to call it murder room? I think Carlyle is about to pass out

Carlyle

voice perhaps wavers a bit more than desirable Don't think I'm going to be hungry, thank you.

Deng Yan

I could cleanse the room, if you like.

Carlyle

nods slowly If that would make you feel better.

Barnum

Hey, no doing anything to drive out ghosts. People will pay a fortune to come and look if there are any here. 

You ladies go on ahead, its upstairs, eight doors to the left. I'll catch up in a moment, I just need a word with Phil. 

Gently tugs Phil back towards the entrance for some fresh air.

Carlyle

follows, glad for a breather

Deng Yan

sighs, walking up the stairs, more dust raising with each footfall He would rather keep the souls of children entrapped in the place they were murdered?

Charity

I'm sure it's just a story

Deng Yan

I like to believe so. I can't truly imagine Barnum being that callous.

Barnum

Pauses in the doorway with Phillip, rubbing circles on his back. 

Are you sure you're okay? I can send the carriage to take you back if you're not feeling up to this? Can tell the girls that you felt under the weather or something.

Carlyle

regains some composure taking in the crisp fall air. Shakes head and makes a derisive sound Don't be ridiculous. I know this is all just an act. It was just a bit stifling in there. So much dust.

Barnum

Gives his shoulder a reassuring pat 

Alright, well just take it easy. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you. 

Presses a kiss to his cheek then turns around to dash off after the ladies 

Come join us when you're ready.

Deng Yan

upstairs, making her away along the corridor tell me, Mrs Barnum. Is what he said true? About you sneaking out as a child? I have to confess I can't imagine you conforming to a stifling lifestyle. You are like my Rosie in that respect.

Charity

Yes I used to climb out the window and meet up with him on the beach

Deng Yan

On the beach? Very romantic.

Charity

Not in the middle of winter

Barnum

Jogs to catch them up 

Nonsense, the beach is romantic all year round.

Deng Yan

turns quickly at the sounds of his footsteps and visibly relaxes seeing it's Barnum

Charity

You almost died that time you decided to go for a swim on the coldest day of the year

Barnum

Grins proudly as he pushes to walk in between them 

Almost. But I didn't. You can't say you weren't impressed by my resilience.

Deng Yan

smirking Now there is a story I would like to hear. From you, Mrs Barnum, not his abridged version. pauses outside the eighth door Is this it?

Charity

Yes obviously I married you for your resilience. It's a deal, Miss Yan

Carlyle

stands at doorway for a few moments longer, feeling a bit more bolstered after the talk, then turns to find he is alone in the lobby ...PT? takes a few steps back inside, swinging lantern around to see Phin? heads up the stairs at a nervous clip

Barnum

Just the one. 

Notices the boards nailed over the door when he runs the lantern close 

Hmm, I didn't bring a hammer. Hold this for me a moment, won't you. 

Passes the lantern to Charity before taking a few steps back and running at the door, throwing himself into it and knocking it hard enough to send the the whole door falling out of its rotting frame and landing on the floor with a loud crack. Revealing an eerie old bedroom, fifteen beds in a row along the long stretch of wall. Strange dark staining on the floorboards hard to make out in the dim light.

Charity

I really hope that's not blood

Deng Yan

It's... probably water residue.

Carlyle

startles at the sound of a sudden crash from further up, followed by a fresh cascade of dust. Coughs and waves away the cloud, taking a blind turn to the left and squinting down the hall

Barnum

Whatever it is, I hope it hasn't weakened the floor boards. Stay here. 

Cautiously wanders into the room, careful of every step. Getting to the centre of the room and then bouncing on the creaky floorboards a few times. 

...No they're fine. Come on in.

Deng Yan

And what would we have done if you had gone crashing straight through? searching in the shoulder bag she is carrying for something

Barnum

I was at least 60% sure it was fine. 

Wanders around, inspecting the beds to see if they're too mouldy to sleep in. Deciding that they are and dumping his suitcase on the ground instead 

Can I have my lantern back? It's dark.

Carlyle

counts off doors, though unsure whether it was 8 doors total or on both sides. Shrugs and twists the handle on the final one, stepping into a dim room that looks like a nursery

Charity

Only if you stop angering the ghosts passes lantern What happened to Phillip? Did he go home?

Barnum

Takes it with a sarcastic eye roll 

I'm not making that promise. 

He was feeling a little faint so he said he'd catch us up after a little fresh air.

Charity

under breath Oh good we're all going to die

Barnum

Squints 

...Did you just hear a door open somewhere?

Deng Yan

stops searching her bag Yes I did actually. I am sure it's just Phillip looking for us

Barnum

Clears his throat 

Of course. He probably just took a wrong turn.

Deng Yan

Shall I go and check?

Barnum

That would be helpful, don't need him stumbling around in the dark by himself when we're not sure the structure is safe.

Carlyle

steps further in and makes out a moldering old rocking horse, not unlike the one from his own childhood. Runs hand lightly over it, setting it swaying back and forth

Deng Yan

Of course not. retreats back into the hallway Carlyle? walking a little further along the corridor Phillip?

Charity

I don't like us all splitting up like this

Barnum

Waves his hand dismissively 

It'll be fine, I'm sure he's not too far away.

Charity

You just said you're not sure it's safe and you let him go walking around without a lantern

Barnum

I'm pretty sure he has a lantern. And he's no idiot. I'm sure we'd hear him if he hurt himself or anything.

Carlyle

sets a mobile spinning in passing, smiling at the shadows of animals thrown onto the walls in the lamplight. Leaves the door open and wanders into the next room, calmer now in these surroundings hearkening back to childhood

Deng Yan

sees the open door and goes to investigate Carlyle? If this is a trick I will not be best pleased.

Carlyle

wanders over to examine a dollhouse, accidentally tipping over some small chairs in the dimness. Sets it aside and catches a glimpse of some bookshelves in the next room. hums a half-forgotten lullaby to himself while exploring, now more sad than frightened by the thought of any souls left forgotten here

Deng Yan

walks through the nursery and into the next room Carlyle??

Barnum

Wanders right to the end of the room, finding the door to the Matrons room and pulling a small piece of wire from his pocket to try to pick it. 

She is taking her time though.

Charity

despairing sigh

Carlyle

holds up lantern to read the titles in the shelf Hmm, not bad. sees a flicker of movement out of corner of eye Hello? sits down at the table and opens book Well, if there are 15 of you up here, you've probably been bored to tears. Why don't I tell you a story.

Barnum

If you're going to sigh and huff at me then you are more than welcome to join them. 

Successfully picks the lock and lets out a sound of triumph as he confidently steps into the pitch black room, illuminating the moulding ceilings and walls with his lantern 

I'm perfectly content to explore the interesting areas by mysel- 

Crashes through the floor with a small yelp

Charity

Safer here in the murder room...

Or not. 

Did you hurt yourself? 

....Phineas?

rushes over

Barnum

Hauls himself to sit up, squinting at the pitch blackness 

No, I think I'm fine. My lantern just went out. I'm in the room below.

Charity

Don't move you might've broken something. 60% sure the floor was safe, eh?

Barnum

Charity, I'm fine. 

Shifts to his feet 

And 60% of the floor probably was safe. I just happened to step on part of the 40% that wasn't.

Carlyle

Once upon a time there lived a beast, cursed to end his existence in an abandoned old manor because of his own hubris. He was once a prince, but his pride led him to push aside others and use the helpless merely as a tool for entertainment and gain.

Deng Yan

looking in the doorway, seeing Phillip with the book Oh, Carlyle.... walks over to rest against the wall near him

Carlyle

For this, he was imprisoned and placed under a spell, along with all the occupants of the house, where they dwelled in an unaging half-life, waiting for the one.... 

looks up at the sound Miss Yan! Where is everyone? I thought we were meeting here.

Barnum

Kneels down to blindly pat the ground to try to find his lantern, fingers landing on the dulled candle in a puddle of something, grimacing in annoyance realising he wouldn't be able to re-light it. 

Chairy, I can't see anything. It's really dark. Have Phil and Deng come back yet?

Deng Yan

You got the wrong room. nods towards the book Carry on, by all means

Charity

No it's just me. This is why I didn't want us going separate ways. 

realises she's alone now and the hairs on the back of her neck start to rise

Carlyle

The wrong room? looks around Are you sure? 

squints and looks around, in the shadows ...because they seem to think they're in the right room.

Barnum

Takes a couple of cautious steps forwards until his hands touch a wall in the dark, trying to make sense of his blind surroundings 

I'm uh. Not a big fan of... 

You won't go anywhere will you? You'll stay here with me. 

Clears his throat to try to hide the waver in his voice

Charity

I have a lantern, shall I come and find you?

Deng Yan

...They?

Barnum

No!...No it's fine. Don't leave. Stay here.

Charity

If you can't see, you could be getting into anything and I'm not convinced you're not injured. 

carefully walks over to where Phineas was and shines light through floorboards

Barnum

Squints at the slight light, breathing a little shakily, at least able to see his own hands now

Carlyle

nods and continues scanning the room Yeah, all of them, just like he said. But they're not angry. And they don't want to haunt. They're waiting for someone to break their curse. 

turns to look at Deng now Didn't you say you knew how?

Deng Yan

looks around the room I might... I didn't think you believed in any of this.

Charity

feels something crawl over her shoe 

Please be just a rat

Carlyle

...I don't. But I know what something trapped and in pain feels like and there's plenty of that here.

Barnum

Hears the sound of footsteps and shuffles slightly where he is. 

Chairy you're not...are you walking around up there? I can hear something down here. There's not supposed to be anyone in here yet. The actors don't start until we've renovated.

Carlyle

Do you have your supplies?

Charity

....No? Haven't moved....

Deng Yan

smiles softly, indicating her bag I do. And you're a sweetheart, you know?

Carlyle

shrugs A fool is someone who isn't willing to change when given reason to.

Charity

unable to stop her voice shaking Phineas? Please come back.

Barnum

Takes off his hat to squeeze against his stomach 

I...changed my mind. Come and find me. 

Chairy. I think there's someone down here. It's dark, I want to leave now.

Charity

This is what you get for calling something a murder room 

backs away to the door and flees

Barnum

Hears creepy sounds creaking in the room like footsteps 

Fine I...I take it back. I won't call it a murder room anymore. I won't exploit anything. We can make different Halloween plans, we can- 

Feels a hand touch his back and shrieks, turning and bolting as fast as he can into the pitch black hallway 

CHARITY!!! PHIL!!! DENG YAN!!!!

[To be continued.]

[mtraki]

Headcanon Request: 6 Headcanons of Accordo.

Oh boy, okay!

1. ‘Accor’

Real simple, here, but I call the native language ‘Accor’.  I’m considering calling the people ‘Accordaen’ (like ‘Tenebraen’ as opposed to ‘Galahdian’ or ‘Lucian’)

… As tempting as it is to call them ‘Accordian’ for lulz… I just cant take it seriously. XD

2. Leviathan

So I headcanon that Accordo was formed from refugees of Solheim sailing away during the fall– mostly wealthy artisans and merchants.  They escaped to the sea and threw themselves upon the mercy of the Hydraen.

She was, decidedly, less than merciful.

Still, enough of them survived and the waters calmed, and the people eventually found themselves blessed with the vast bounty the sea had to offer.  You’ll see the multi-identity effigies of Leviathan all around the city– particularly the beautiful humanoid goddess.  Leviathan is revered as the matron of Accordo, and especially Altissia.  Different parts of Accordo have their tailored rituals and myths about her, but in general, she’s regarded as the very. temperamental. mom. who is taking a long, well-deserved, nap, and should not be woken prematurely.

But they definitely also acknowledge that she also protects and provides, even in her slumber.

3. Altissia is Not Accordo

The game only really shows us Altissia, but Accordo is a rather large archipelago.  It’s not like Lucis, where everything else belongs to the Empire (though there are probably a few bases here and there on the islands, most-likely bare-bones set-ups for inter-continental troop movements and airship repairs).  There are a number of fishing and agricultural villages, as well as bigger hub towns for trade on the way to the big capital.  Most of these villages are owned and outsourced by wealthy merchants.  There are likely a number of rich marble and gem quarries in the larger islands which are a huge source of trade and wealth.

The local culture of all these places is somewhat different, but there is a very sharp contrast between Altissians and other Accordaens, especially in consideration of tourists.  Altissia obviously has a huge tourism industry, but the more rural areas and smaller towns don’t appreciate foreigners poking around– after all, they still remember the days when soldiers rampaged through their homes…

There is some bitterness when it comes to governance as well, or there would be, if not for the way power is arranged in the archipelago.  Altissia may not be the voice of all of Accordo, but the Market of Tides is.

4. Market of Tides

When these rich artisans and merchants fled, they took everything they could.  But obviously everyone didn’t have everything they needed.  While searching for a safe harbor, ships traded goods in a bartering system-- if goods were available for equal trade-- or on an honor system if they weren’t.  For example: a carpenter might need to feed his family, but he has no skill in ship repair, and so instead swears to help build another’s house once things get situated.  These deals were verbal contracts, and taken very seriously, establishing a business relationship of trust and eventually loyalty.  This system began the basic structure of governance that would transfer rather seamlessly onto Accordo.  The wealth and influence were fluid things out on the sea, and those who had racked up favors and loyalty with those who had not.  There was a brief period of history where the most influential and wealthiest family became royalty, but such an arrangement was eventually found distasteful after coming under Imperial control.

The government officially established afterwards-- the Parliament with it’s First Secretary-- is not the Market of Tides.  However, members of Parliament are often players in the MoT.

The Market of Tides controls wealth and influence through unofficial, often clandestine means, to support their supporters and increase their influence.  The Market of Tides is basically the dramatic but quiet chess game of various merchant dynastic families for honor and renown (those who play for wealth are not favored and generally do not last long).  It is a dangerous and sometimes bloody chess game, especially if verbal or written contracts are not honored-- and such debts and promises are often inherited through generations-- or rival groups feel drastic actions are required.  Assassinations amongst the wealthy and influential are common.  Most organized crime is theorized to be connected directly to the MoT.

The MoT is part of Accordaen heritage, and ultimately seen as a positive thing, though it is not spoken of openly.  The system provides overhead and protection for budding businesses and balances the trade market to keep competition lively.  The Market of Tides also often provides for those who are needy-- because of this, there are very few who are afflicted with homelessness, food insecurity, or unemployment.

5. Lovers Not Fighters

On the whole, Accordaen culture and philosophy do not embrace violence or martial might.  Disagreements are better settled through trade-- even if they originated in trade!  Criminal murder is very rare, as the Market of Tides will always see such a slight answered harshly. (MoT assassinations are not considered criminal murder unless someone other than the target is killed.)

Especially in the company of foreigners, an Accordaen is more likely to facilitate compromise, and make excellent mediators in disputes, ensuring that a fair trade of services or goods takes place.  History has demonstrated time and again that it benefits them to do everything they can to ingratiate themselves to others and make friends instead of enemies.

6. Little Cultural Things I’ve Invented

the ‘Altissian Kiss’

I dunno.  I thought it was clever or something.  Y’know how tongue-kissing is called ‘French Kissing’ by people?  That’s the kind of thing I was going for.  I’ve been asked exactly what an Altissian Kiss is, and I’m not sure (LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE SUGGESTIONS! :D) But I can tell you that the stereotype exists that Accordaens, and especially Altissians, are super passionate lovers and great kissers.  Altissian tourist shops have embraced this and feature novelty t-shirts and other items that state boldly ‘ALTISSIANS DO IT BETTER’.

They also have a word ‘bacia’ which is used as a insult that translates into ‘kiss off’ which is used like ‘F*** off’.  Memorabilia with either translation of this are also popular.

Kissing and PDA are not huge deals in Altissia, though somewhat more frowned on in more conservative rural villages.

“Never try to swindle an Altissian.” (This also applies to other Accordaens)

Being the descendants of merchants, it’s really difficult to pull one over on someone from the archipelago concerning a business arrangement.  They seem to have a good eye and ear for dishonest business and blackmail.  Trying will either get you laughed at or in serious trouble.  If you do manage to pull it off, watch out-- they’ll find a way to ruin you and your entire family while coming out looking completely innocent.

On the flip-side, an Accordaen can usually be honor-bound by their word-- unless they’ve made a clever loop-hole for themselves, or the other person has broken their end of the deal.