#hes such an amalgamation of schools. no wonder he wants to carve a place for himself (even if it means displacing someone else) and

[ikusayu-no-hana]

but actually it fits so well . chougi (probably) being an ootachi before kunihiro shortened him and left his inscription on him . the closest thing him having to relatives being the distant osafune and (ill-fortunedly) his equally celebrated replica , while manba, despite allllll his hesitations is adored by his brothers . chougi having nooothing else save his name bc even the myth of the yamanba was attributed to both of them and being the latter to manifest obviously making him a footnote to manba . and then him masking his identity during the investigation...

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, BECKY! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH with an approved FC change to Karrueche Tran. Admin Cas: Ah, Lucrezia. She’s undoubtedly one of my favourite characters here, and for good reason. She’s perceptive, calculating, enchanting, and perhaps most importantly of all, utterly terrifying. I adored your application from start to finish, Becky - you captured every dark ambition, every siren song, every scheme and subterfuge that Lucrezia’s ever used to her advantage. Femininity is her weapon, and she knows exactly how to use it. Honestly, I could feel the beat of her heart in every single word you wrote. This line in particular got me: “You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath.” Your Lucrezia certainly isn’t for the fainthearted, and I’m so excited to watch how she flourishes in your capable hands! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Becky

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | WFH so online daily.

Timezone | GMT

How did you find the rp? | Blast from the past !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lady Macbeth, Lucrezia Falco

What drew you to this character? |

There’s blood on your hands and it won’t wash out. There’s blood on your hands and it glistens, deep and dark and vicious. There’s blood on your hands and it whispers like a friend, like a confidant, like a lover.

There’s blood on your hands – and you know this is the price to pay for greatness.

You will build your empire piece by piece until a crown of power rests against your brow. If the streets of Verona must run with ichor, so be it. You are the flower and the serpent. You are becoming and unbecoming. You are forging yourself anew until the person looking back at you in the mirror is a reflection you deem worthy.

Docile smiles have never been a currency you can afford to use. When you were younger, bright and teetering on the edge of foolishness, your mother and father had wished for a doe-eyed daughter. Instead, you had come home from school with a bruise marking your face and a blade-sharp smile cutting across your mouth ( the other girl had looked far worse ). Makeup had covered the purpling skin from friends and family, your mother chiding you with a loss for how to tame her daughter. Your parents had done all they could to brush aside your misdemeanours. This is what happens when you grow up in a house which thrives on concealment: you get good at hiding your sins.

You feel yourself being picked apart. The decadent dance of decaying debutante. You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath. Your heart turns to a sticky dark mess that slides through the fingers of anyone who dares to try and save it.

You were never built to be soft.

Venom pools in your mouth, tart on the tongue. Dark eyes shine bright in the nighttime, flashing a smile to distract from danger. Laughter echoes down a cobbled passageway and silence pools along stone grooves soon after, matching the rust-coloured criss-cross patterns that decorate your palm as soap and water cleanse you of tonight’s trouble.

Marriage. Misdemeanours. Murder. Perhaps there’s a reason they call you Lady M beyond simply carrying your husband’s moniker with you. Binding yourself to him had been necessary to get where you are now but it had not been his trust you sought to gain but that of Cosimo. The best laid plans are those that take time. You know how to lay in wait, patient when necessary, and those who do not perform as you wish them to are cut loose from their marionette strings.

There is nothing you wouldn’t do to achieve what you desire.

– Lucrezia Falco is the amalgamation of some of my favourite characters, including her namesake; Narcissa Malfoy; Marisa Coulter; Rebecca de Winter; Carmine Zuigiber; Melanie Cavill; Estella Havisham; Amy Dunne. I’m definitely drawn towards the idea of Lucrezia embracing the darker parts of herself and pushing her boundaries. I’m always a sucker for a character who stirs gossip and whispers in people’s ears so I have no doubt she’ll bring her fair share of drama with her, leaving anyone who suffers for it in her wake. A temptress at heart, she’s particularly adept at inciting trouble.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. ASCENT. You are destined for more. You can feel it calling to you like a siren song billowing up from murky depths. Every ounce of praise is gathered, wrung out and collected from those above you. Hierarchy is merely a concept devised to provide a clear pathway for people like you. The top is evident; the means for ascent less so. – Lucrezia sets her sights high. The absolute pinnacle of her goals is to achieve a high level rank, be it Boss, Underboss or Advisor. She isn’t fussy. I have no doubt this will put her at odds with Juliana ( who is somewhat her foil ) but who doesn’t love some tension? Vivienne and her influence is potentially tricker for Lucrezia to deal with but I envision her attempting to carve out a mentorship-type role for herself in the heart of Ms Sloane. She’ll be quick to pitch her desire to become something more and, whilst it would be great to see her achieve it, I can’t help but wonder what she may do should she be denied.

> Vaguely and conceptually curious about the idea of her becoming a hitman to take the spot Orion left behind but she’d certainly be a bit of a wildcard option, all things considered. Very femme fatale, very serpent-under-the-flower.

II. BONDS. You can feel him watch you, eyes tracking your movements. Lust occasionally sparks but love remains absent, settling like quiet of your shared abode when his conversation starter falls flat at your feet. It is not his fault, not really. You are repulsed by the idea of letting him know you well enough to know your weak spots. To let him in would be to surrender. The organ beneath your ribs serves its purpose keeping you alive and you shan’t let it soften for the sake of a husband who wants to know the woman who shares his bed better. – Ah, Mikael. Married for his connections and potential. Lucrezia is purposefully preventing herself from having any feelings towards him that aren’t inherently carnal but even those have begun to dry, the thrill of what they once had having risked returning to routine. I don’t think it’s impossible for them to fix what they have but it would take Lucrezia learning to be vulnerable in front of him which, after ten-or-so years of marriage, may admittedly never happen. For now she is satisfied keeping him ( what she assumes to be ) happy so that he doesn’t grow tired of her. It’d be interesting and very Shakespeareanly-apt were he to get wrapped up in her devious plans. For better or for worse, and all that… Perhaps they will end up breaking apart or perhaps they will overcome their current lack of love for one another. Either way, it’ll be messy.

III. MANIA. You wipe the blade against silk, a dark smear across fine fabric. Information is precious and once you’ve plucked what you need from a mouth that offers what it can in amongst strangled sobs, you dispose of the source before others can make use of it. Clean. Precise. An emissary is not expected to get their hands dirty like this but you do what you can to get noticed by the right people. And the wrong ones. But your sins are beginning to take a toll, gnawing their way into the blackened husk of your heart. Before long, you may begin to unravel.

– Emissaries trade in whispers but Lucrezia knows she needs to get ahead of the rest in order to stand out from the crowd. She’ll do whatever it takes to get information and secure deals. We love drama in this house so I am absolutely here for her getting in too deep. The more she tests her morality, the weaker her conscience grows. She treats it like an experiment to see whether she’ll ever reach a point of breaking and thus far is yet to see any signs of such. If there is a price to pay for these inhuman acts, it will be her sanity.

IV. CONTROL. You will take what is offered. You will keep climbing. You won’t turn back and you certainly won’t let anything get in your way. Or anyone. You need those ranked higher than you to look on you favourably. The thought of someone close to Cosimo thinking you are incapable makes your skin crawl. With recent deaths and absences leaving gaping holes in the mob hierarchy, you need to do all you can to ensure that those who fill them adore you.

– The higher she attempts to rise, the further the fall. Lucrezia knows she cannot achieve power on her own; she needs supporters. It will take more than a well placed compliment and a brush of her fingertips. She needs to climb inside their minds; carve out a space for herself to sit amongst dark thoughts and ensure the loyalty of her fellow Capulets. Once inspiring this in a chosen few, she will rely on them to protect her and behave in a way that snubs out the sparks of any other bright things daring to climb the ranks. As soon as a new Advisor is chosen, should it be someone she doesn’t take kindly to, she may very well start fanning the embers of mistrust in their abilities. A whisper here, a comment there. A reputation can take a long time to build but can be toppled overnight by the right sharp-smiling disarming woman.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Not currently but that could certainly change if it helped with the overall plot!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

I. ) At half past nine, in the wake of Mikael going to work and leaving her alone ( precisely the way she likes it ) in the shell of their home, Lucrezia dons her gym wear and goes for a jog. The route is specific. The timing is immaculate. She passes the wife of the mayor like clockwork, passing a smile in her direction each morning until smiles become greetings and greetings become stopping to coo at the child in her stroller.

Eventually this turns to weekly lunches and invitations to various social events. They all dance the way she desires, puppets dangling from strings caught in her hands. It’s at the book club that she learns the most; gossip spilling from the wine-loosened lips of women in power or women married to power. Falling into the latter camp isn’t so bad when it gives you a free step up in the world. Lucrezia knows this fact well.

“But is that really your favourite place in Verona?” the Capulet asks as they talk of unexciting places nestled snuggly in her Don’s territory, seeking a location fit to hold an entirely over-the-top birthday party for the mayor’s wife. She’s only been half-listening, waiting for the perfect moment to chip in with her opinion. Her valued opinion. That was important. Charm the right people into believing you have their best interests at heart and they won’t see that your own motives lay at the centre of all you do.

“What about Teatro Nuovo?” she suggests, seemingly off-handedly, gaze fixing on the mayor’s wife with familiarity and a glimmer of private acknowledgement, as though only she knew precisely where would be best. Lucrezia wouldn’t dare spend an unnecessary amount of time in Montague territory typically but this particular excuse to snoop around the building wasn’t one to turn her nose up at. With high profile politicians and their security in attendance, she’ll bet her luck that the Montagues wouldn’t dare to target her. “There’s an elegance to the theatre. Grandeur. And who doesn’t love an opera-masquerade themed party?”

II. ) “I’m trying to get a better idea of Mr Falco’s routine. What does your typical day look like?” Mikael’s PA asks, far too eager to please their boss in a way that Lucrezia would like to think only she knows the art of.

The edges of her mouth lift, hiding her irritation at the prying behind a well-practiced false smile. “To begin, Mikael and I wake up and enjoy some early morning cardio.” The lie leaves her lips, accompanied by a laugh to put the other at ease. Her wifely facade remains; she’s used to putting on this charade. It is the blush that stains the PA’s cheeks that marks her success. “And then he will leave for work and I attend a yoga class or meet a friend for breakfast.” Lie. It’s more likely to be a negotiation, securing a deal with someone whose attention lingers on her just as much as it lingers on the examples of the firearms the Capulets can offer. “I’ll typically spend some time running errands or planning a dinner party before lunch which is either eaten alone at home or out. The afternoon is for shopping or a leisurely stroll.” Another lie. Afternoons are for organising reports to give to Vivianne. Who is following through with their half of agreements? Who is falling short and needs a follow up visit from her less-charming friends? “And then Mikael will return from work and we’ll have an enjoyable evening.”

Lucrezia conjures a vision of perfection without giving it a second thought. She neglects to mention the hours spent at The Twelfth Night; or those coaxing whispers from unyielding mouths; or those scrubbing the blood of another from the beds of her fingernails.

III. ) “What has been your biggest mistake thus far?” The bespectacled marriage counsellor asks. Beside Lucrezia, Mikael fidgets. She reaches for his hand, curling her fingers around it. His wedding band is warm to the touch. He stills as he always does when she touches him as though surprised by his own wife’s affection. Predictable.

Agreeing to attend this meeting, she thinks to herself. She’d slammed a door in Mikael’s face when he’d suggested they try and talk things through with a therapist present yet agreed to attend for the sake of keeping up appearances ( he talks to Everett about their relationship, she knows this much ). “I once served garlic hors d'oeuvres at a party with an orchestra.” Lucrezia answers. “Such a bad idea when everyone had to stand so close to speak to one another.”

Her revenge on her husband’s attempt to meddle with their relationship is to be had afterwards as she says goodbye, a hand on the therapist’s arm and a sultry tone drifting from her lips. When she glances towards the door, she meets Mikael’s line of sight.

It didn’t matter what games they played, the queen was always the stronger piece.

IV. ) “What has been the most difficult task asked of you?” Cosimo’s question wafts towards her on a tendril of cigarette smoke that catches in the sunlight streaming into his office through slits in the blinds.

Inwardly, Lucrezia wants to scream. Very little can make her speak genuinely, truthfully, from the heart. This line of questioning makes it feel as if he were trying to climb inside her head and understand who she was. She doesn’t care for thinking about her shortcomings, nor does she have any intention of allowing Cosimo to do the same.

She deploys one of her usual tactics. Raises her hand slowly to pull the cigarette from Cosimo’s lips and hold it to her own, taking a drag before returning the lipstick-stained end to him. She exhales slowly. “I’ll tell you when you give me something difficult to do.” Her brow raises in challenge, settling the boss with a steady stare. Test me, she wants to tell him. I want to feel alive.

V. ) “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” Everett asks her the day she leaves his decina, chin held high in light of her promotion to emissary, no longer trapped beneath the heel of another man’s shoe. The question is posed casually but Lucrezia knows him well enough by now that Everett rarely acts without purpose – and that purpose would be sat snuggly against the morals that keep his spine straight and his expression guarded.

Lucrezia turns the question over in her mind cautiously as though it were a trap, steel jaw ready to spring shut. A smile slinks slowly across her lips as she closes the space between them until a metre of polished wooden floor is what keeps them apart ( along with a history of unresolved differences ). She squares her gaze with his. “All this time spent teaching me and you still can’t figure out what goes on inside my head, can you?” Something that isn’t quite a laugh escapes her mouth. The sound is silky, amusement winding itself around it like a serpent. “What would you like me to say? That the war is necessary? That, like you, I got involved in all this because of someone I love?”

It doesn’t take a telepath to know that Vivianne springs to the forefront of both of their minds. An emissary is only as good as her intel and sufficient background information was always a valuable arsenal to carry. Her reassignment had not been born from luck; she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Acrylic fingernails reach to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of Everett’s suit before turning swiftly to leave, her answer falling behind her as she strides out of the room. “It’s about time we fucking won, Everett.”

Connections:

THE SPOUSE: Mikael Falco. As much as it pains her that the man she married can’t find the strength to stand up to her when necessary, she still clings to a thread of hope that she can turn him into the person she wishes he was. Headstrong. Lethal. As hungry for more as she is. The Falco name is a pretty one and would surely look just as beautiful sitting alongside the most powerful families of Verona, no?

THE ADVERSARY: Calina Sokolova. This town isn’t big enough for the both of them. Calina seems to slip through life with casual elegance whereas Lucrezia feels like her nails have left imprints in everything, working hard for what she deserves. She waits with bated breath to hear news of the Montague emissary’s fall from grace, eager for the whispers to land on the shell of her ear first so she can watch it all burn down in flames.

THE ANNOYANCE: Everett Craven. There’s fun to be had in finding new subtle ways to torment a man like Everett. She waits for the twitch of his brow or the tick of his jaw, hoping to be the cause of the vexed sigh that leaves his mouth. His seriousness mixed with his influence over Mikael are, irritatingly, things she’s never been able to break. And not for a lack of trying.

THE PUPIL: Delilah Bello. She is not one to offer a shoulder to cry on but, equally, she is not one to disregard those who do whatever it takes to stay ahead. Delilah’s choice of tactics may have been misguided and Lucrezia certainly doesn’t find the soldier’s attempts to deny what happened in any way productive – but perhaps she simply needs steering in the right direction. Making the best of a bad situation can be an enjoyable pastime when done right.

THE SOURCE: Mona Chen. Mona certainly knows how to string together a pretty sentence, words shining through the darkness that they have both made their home in. Lucrezia enjoys collecting the payment owed to Cosimo; enjoys having the privilege of hearing the secrets whispered to her as if some vessel for the truth. She turns the information over in her head, admiring it, deciding what should and shouldn’t be passed on. There’s power in that.

THE SEDUCED: Open to anyone. Lucrezia has them hooked around her finger, but unlike post-marriage Mikael they prove to be much more of a fun plaything. She knows they want what they can’t have but she’s beginning to get a taste of her own medicine. Being with them is like playing with fire, dangerous but enthralling. She won’t cheat on Mikael but she might just test a few boundaries.

THE SANCTUARY: Open to Capulets or neutrals. Even someone like Lucrezia needs a safe place to rest. Somewhere she can drop the many charades and be herself. This person is, perhaps, the only soul she has ever felt truly at peace beside. Time is what strengthened their bond, along with their fair share of helping one another out of tricky or dangerous situations.

THE TRICKED: Open to Montagues. She has no intention of harming them, for that would be counterproductive. They are a plaything, of sorts. An experiment to see what she can do, what she can achieve. When they first meet, she slips into a charade of fear. Pretends to be at their mercy if only for the sake of spinning her story: the terrified wife. A sob story can go a long way if you know how to play it.

[inhumansforever]

Inhuman of The Day

August 10 - Ms. Marvel

Kamala Kahn.  A latent Inhuman whose transformation was triggered by exposure to the Terrigen cloud.  Her newfound powers enables Kamala to increase and decrease her size at will.  She can also enact this size-shifting ability to specific limbs, allowing her to create giant fists, elated feet, or elongated legs.  With a great deal of focus and energy, Kamala can completely shape-shift and change her entire appearance and size.  

These powers take up a great deal of energy and, thus far, she can only utilize them for brief periods of time before she becomes exhausted.  While Kamla’s powers help her be resilient to most forms of attack, she has shown a specific vulnerability to electrical based attacks; the reasons for this remain thus far a mystery.  

Kamala grew up in Jersey City.  Her parents immigrated from Pakistan and Kamala has often struggled in maintaining a balancing between her parents wishes that she adhere to more traditional Muslim values and her feelings of obligation to go behind her parents’ backs and utilize her newfound powers to be a costumed crimefighter.  

Her best pal is a her fellow classmate named Bruno Carrelli, who runs his family’s corner bodega near Kamala’s house.   Bruno has had a longstanding crush on Kamala, but thus far Kamala has only seen him as a good friend.  Bruno was quite crestfallen when he saw that Kamala was a bit smitten by the son of family friends named Kamran.

Later on, Bruno has started dating a young woman named Mike (short for Michaela).  At first, Kamala felt oddly jealous over the matter, but eventually came to feel happy for Bruno and also became good friends with Mike.  Kamala’s other good friends include Nakia Bahadir (a fellow classmate who also attends the same Mosque as Kamala and her family); Zoe Zimmerman, a classmate and cheerleader who is not as shallow as she often acts; and Josh, a jock who is similarly a lot more intelligent and sensitive than he lets on.  

Kamala’s older brother is named Aamir.  Unlike Kamala, Aamir is quite strongly devoted to his faith and he often chastises his younger sister for not better adhering to the guidance and customs of the tenets of Islam.  Although he can be stodgy and dogmatic, Aamir is a good brother to Kamala and very much wants the best for her.  

More recently, Aamir met and fell in love with a young woman named, Tyesha Hillman.  The two eventually married and recently Tyesha gave birth to a baby boy whom they named Malik.   Kamala thinks Tyesha is just great and she was over the moon happy to have become an aunt.  Tyesha’s younger brother, Gabe, is a classmate of Kamala’s and the two have become good friends.  

Kamala went through Terrigenesis when the Terrigen Cloud passed through New Jersey while she and Nakia were attending a party near the Hudson Bay.  Immediately after receiving her newfound powers, Kamala knew that a great responsibility had be foisted unto her shoulders.  

A longtime fan of the super heroes, Kamala quickly decided she needed to use these powers for good and become a costumed hero.  Her all-time favorite hero has been the Avenger, Captain Marvel (Carol Danvers), and Kamala initially shape-shifted into Danvers’ form when rescuing a Zoe who had fallen into the bay and was drowning.  Kamala later decided that she should become her own hero with her own identity so she created a new costume, but assumed the name of ‘Ms. Marvel’ as a homage to her hero, Carol Danvers.

Initially, Kamala believed that her powers were a result of her being a mutant.  After sharing an adventure with the X-Man, Wolverine, however, she learned she was not a Mutant and was instead one of the many new Inhumans created by the Terrigen Cloud.  

Kamala was soon thereafter identified by Queen Medusa as being a new Inhuman possessing great potential (a great potential for heroics as well as a great potential for getting into trouble).  Medusa dispatched Lockjaw, the watchdog of the Royal Court, to look after Kamala and keep her out of trouble (although it was more often Lockjaw who needed watching over and protection by Kamala).  

Kamala and Lockjaw investigated a series of missing persons involving teenagers in the Jersey City area.  They discovered that these youths had been abducted by the bizarre villain known as The Inventor.  The Inventor held great disdain toward the younger generation and he used his captives as a bio-electric energy-source for his various machines and inventions.  Kamila ultimately defeated The Inventor and freed his many captives.  

Kamala was invited to train at New Attilan so to better hone and refine her powers and abilities.  While visiting the Inhuman city, Kamala met a number of her fellow new Inhumans (including Inferno, Naja, and Iso and Flint).  She also has had adventures alongside the Amazing Spider-Man, Wolverine, Loki, Moon Girl and the Agents of Shield.  

Throughout her early adventures as a superhero, Kamala struggled with feelings of guilt over the fact that she was disobeying her parents and pursuing a secret life her family did not know about.  She would often discuss these feelings (in a covert fashion) with Sheik Abdullah at her Mosque.  

Sheik Abdullah has been able to offer Kamala good advice, encouraging her that carving her own path, doing what she feels is right, is the best way to honer her parents and her god.  

Later, Kamala reunited with a childhood friend named Kamran, who it turned out was also a new Inhuman.  Kamila was quite smitten with Kamran, yet he proved not to be as good a guy as he initially seemed.  

Kamran was secretly in league with the duplicitous Inhuman named Lineage, who used him to lure Kamala into a trap.  Like Medusa, Lineage was extremely intrigued by Kamala and certain there was something particularly special about her.  Lineage was staging a coup of New Attilan to forward his Inhuman supremacist agenda; and he very much wanted Kamala to join his cause.  

Kamala refused Lineage’s offer to join him and escaped his clutches.  Lineage was later defeated by Medusa and the other Inhumans, but Kamran continued the schemes that Lineage had put in place.  Believing that he might find a like-minded ally, Kamran abducted Kamala’s older brother, Aamir, hoping to expose him to the transformative Terrigen Mists.  Ms. Marvel, joined by Captain Marvel, arrived on the scene and defeated Kamran, rescuing Aamir.

At the onset of The Secret Wars event, where it appeared as though the world was ending, Kamala’s mother admitted to Kamala that she is aware of her double life as a superhero.  Kamala’s mother doesn’t entirely agree with this decision, but she is nonetheless very proud of her daughter.

Following the Secret Wars Event, Ms. Marvel was recurred to join Tony Stark’s all new, all different group of Avengers.  Along with Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, and The Vision, Kamala was joined on the roster by her fellow young heroes Nova (Sam Alexander) and Spider-Man (Miles Morales).  Kamala has found Sam to be a bit of an annoyance, but she’s cultivated a close friendship with Miles.

Being an Avenger had been a dream come true for Kamala., but the great responsibilities of being an Avenger, maintaining patrols of her local Jersey City, keeping up with her school work, on top of various social and family obligations has left her very much over-taxed and more of then not, quite exhausted.  

Following an adventure where Ms. Marvel foiled a plot by the sinister Dr. Faustus to take over the minds of a trendy neighborhood in Jersey City, Kamala came to realize that she was being stretched too thin by all of her many obligations.  In an effort to navigate around this problem, Kamala and her friend Bruno used a high tech 3-D printer and magical material that had been left behind by the trickster god, Loki, and created multiple drone-like clones of Kamala.  

Kamala had hoped these clones might sit-in for her at school or during family functions, thus allowing her more time to attend to her duties as a super hero and Avengers.  

As might be expected, this plot went terribly wrong and the various clones developed their own rudimentary sentience, running amok before amalgamating together into a rampaging behemoth.  Ms. Marvel was eventually able to defeat this monstrosity with the assistance of Captain Marvel and Iron Man.  

Later, Ms. Marvel was recruited by Captain Marvel to head up a platoon of junior Carol Corps Cadets.  Captain Marvel was using the prophetic visions provided by the new Inhuman, Ulysses, to prevent crimes and disasters before they happened.  Ms. Marvel and the cadets were put in charge of intervening on future crimes occurring in the Jersey City area.  

Initially, this plan to prevent on crimes before they occurred was working well and Kamala did not see a downside to the preventative justice program.  When discussing the matter with Tyesha, however, Kamala came to wonder about how this system may be infringing on individual’s civil liberties.  Ulysses’ powers to see the future was essentially a refined process of profiling.  Tyesha spoke about how such profiling was used to essentially criminalize entire subsections of the population.  She spoke about the neighborhood where Tyesha grew up and how the police utilized profiling as a means to enforce a very racist agenda.  

The burgeoning doubts Kamala was feeling over the whole matter were further compounded when the young cadets under her charge started acting in an increasingly authoritative and aggressive fashion.  The power to essentially change the future had quickly gone to these youngsters’ heads.  Ms. Marvel and the cadets were made aware of a vision Ulysses had involving a mass murder at Kamala’s high school.  They rushed to the would-be perpetrator's home to arrest him before he could commit this crime.  Much to Kamala’s shock, the culprit turned out to be her good friend, Josh.  

It turned out that Josh was bereft over the fact that Zoe had broken up with him.  He had planned on causing a blackout at his school, yet (according to Ulysses’ vision) doing so would have caused an electrical surge and subsequent fire that would have claimed many lives.  The cadets roughed Josh up and detained him to ensure that this disaster would not occur.  

Although Kamala was glad to have prevented this tragedy, she continued to have doubts over the idea of detaining people without due process or access to legal representation.  Her committed to the whole program of utilizing Ulysses’ visions to alter the future was beginning to wain.  And she hasn’t been the only one.  The entire superhero community has become split over the matter, with roughly half siding with Captain Marvel and feeling that Ulysses’ visions must be used so to save lives, and the other half siding with Iron Man, feeling that civil liberties must be maintained and Ulysses’ profiles of the future are not refined enough to put such absolute faith in.  Following the death of The Hulk, the philosophical differences between these two groups came to a head, lines were drawn and hero came to battle hero.  Forced to choose a side, Ms. Marvel opted to align herself with Iron Man (even though doing so put her at odds with her mentor, Captain Marvel, as well as her fellow Inhumans of New Attilan).  

Meanwhile, Bruno attempted to break into the detention facility where Josh was being held.  He used a homemade explosive device to get through the main door.  The device malfunctioned and blew up right in front of Bruno.  Kamala arrived to find Bruno gravely injured.  

He survived, but sustained paralysis to half of his body.  Bruno ultimately chose to leave Jersey and accepted an invitation to study at the School of The Golden City of Wakanda.

The whole affair caused Kamala to question the methods of the predictive justice program and lose faith in her former hero, Captain Marvel.  Ultimately, Kamala left the Avengers and created a new team of young heroes called The Champions.      

Following a brief vacation in which Kamala visited relatives in Pakistan, Ms. Marvel found herself matching wits with a mysterious new villain known only as Doc.X.  It turned out that this Doc.X was actually a computer program that had somehow gained sentience and attempted to extort Kamala into doing its bidding, threatening to expose her and her friends’ secrets if she refused to do its bidding.   With the aide of her friends, Ms. Marvel was ultimately able to defeat and apparently destroy Doc.X.

During the Secret Empire story event, Ms. Marvel found herself teaming up with her fellow Inhumans, Quake, Inferno, Karnak and Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, pooling their strengths in an effort to take down Hydra.  She had a few additional adventures alongside the Secret Warriors following the Secret Empire ordeal.  

During this time, she developed a slight crush on her teammate, Inferno; as well as adversarial relationship with Quake.  Kamala saw Quake as too extreme, too willing to take drastic measures.  It was rather heartbreaking fro Kamala when she discovered that Quake and Inferno had engaged in a romantic affair.  Ultimately, the Secret Warriors broke up and Kamala went rejoined her former comrades among The Champions.  

Some time thereafter, Ms. Marvel was asked to join in for an event celebrating Asian American heroes.  Other attendees included Shang-Chi, Jimmy Woo, Silk and Amadeus Cho.  Kamala was very happy and proud to be a part of this event and she and her fellow Asian American heroes had a few adventures together. 

Later on, the villainous cad know as Chuck Worthy, The Hydra Hipster, began a campaign to take over Jersey City by way of gentrifying the city and instituting an attitude of ultraconservative norms and anti-Inhuman/anti-Mutant sentiment.  

Worthy had recruited two super-powered enforcers to help him in this endeavor.  One was Becky, the former Carol Cadet Kamala had butted heads with during the Civil War II ordeal.  The other was a mysterious masked villain called Discord.  Kamala was ultimately dismayed to find that this Discord was actually her friend Josh in disguise.  

Worthy’s plot was eventually foiled.  Becky was captured and incarcerated, but Josh escaped and his current whereabouts remain unrevealed.  

Needed a break, Kamla opted to spend her summer vacation visiting family in Karachi, Pakistan.

While in Karachi, Kamala met a young hero known as The Red Dagger.  The two had an adventure together and Kamala found herself kind of crushing on the dashing young hero.  Later on, Kamala’s family friend, Kareem, came to spend a semester abroad in Jersey City.  Soon thereafter, The Red Dagger started showing up to aide Ms. Marvel in her missions.  Both Kamala and Kareem suspected each other’s secret identities as Ms. Marvel and The Red Dagger, but opted to respect one another’s decisions to keep their secrets.

Around this time, Kamala found herself a bit overwhelmed by the various duties and demands of her school work, her social life, and life as a super hero.  She needed a break and, with Red Dagger now in town to protect the streets of Jersey City, she opted for a sabbatical.  She enrolled in a tony private school, stopped patrolling, and stopped hanging out with her friends.  

Kamala’s pals (specifically Najia, Zoe, Mike and Gabe) were mystified by Kamala’s disappearance.  Furthermore, they were very concerned that Ms. Marvel’s absence might invite all manner of crime and mayhem to Jersey City.  They took it upon themselves to fill this void and each took turns dressing up as Ms. Marvel and patrolling the streets, just to let evil-doers know that the city was still being protected.  Alongside The Red Dagger, these ersatz Ms. Marvel’s found themselves embroiled in a terrible scheme hatched by the evil Inventor (who had recently been paroled from prison).  

This time around, The Inventor had set his sights on the elderly, victimizing senior citizens sent to assisted living facilities and using them as human batteries to power his army of creepy cyborgs. 

Things got out of control pretty fast as The Dagger and the gang found themselves in over their collective heads.  Fortunately, Kamala’s friend Neftali was able to track her down at the private school and convince her to return.  

She arrived just in time to aide her friends (and Captain Marvel) in putting an end to The Inventor’s sinister plot.  Along with defeating The Inventor, Kamala also got to rekindle her friendship with Captain Marvel.  

Shortly thereafter, Kamala decided to reveal her secret identity to her friends.  None of them were surprised in that they had each already put the matter together.  It offered Kamala a great deal of relief that her friends were so accepting of her and had her back.  

Meanwhile, Kamala has continued her adventures alongside The Champions.  She also recently met Squirrel Girl and she has found herself embroiled in an adventure to stop a powerful new Inhuman named Ember.  This adventure continues to unfold in the pages of the Marvel Rising.

Concurrently, The Red Dagger chose to let Ms. Marvel know that he had fallen for her.  Kamala doesn’t really feel she is old enough or wise enough to handle being in a romantic relationship, yet it was difficult for her to push away her strong feelings of attraction toward The Dagger.  Before she new it, the two were sharing Kamala’s first kiss on the roof of the Circle Q.  

And just then, Bruno had returned home, just in time to see Kamala kissing this dashing stranger (it was rather crushing for him).  

Bruno ultimately chose to be up front with Kamala and he divulged to her that he has been in love with her for as long as he can remember.  Again, Kamala knew she is not yet ready to be involved with such things, yet hearing Bruno’s declaration of love stirred up a lot of feelings in her… maybe she loves him too!  It was all just too much for her.  

After consulting with Sheik Abdullah, Kamala ultimately decided that she just needed to deal with these feelings and follow her heart.  She ultimately decided that she was going to stick with her values, she is not old enough to be ready for romance and will do her best to still be friends with these boys despite the fact that they make her feel all mushy inside.  

After assisting Kamala in taking down a returned manifestation of the villainous Doc. X., The Red Dagger informed Kamala that he was returning to Karachi.  He has let her know how he feels about her, but doesn’t want to unfairly infringe on her life.  Were she to ever decide that she likes him the way he likes her, then she will know where to find him.  

Likewise, Bruno has also chosen to respect Kamala decisions.  The two have struggled to figure out a way to remain friends despite their mixed up feelings toward one another.  In an effort to do so, Kamala and Bruno have begun trying to better understand the nature of Kamala’s powers.  Doing so has proven disastrous in that for some reason Kamala has suddenly found herself unable to fully control her powers.  

And this has happened at the most misfortune of times in the villain known as The Shocker has come to Jersey City to pull off a heist.  Kamala donned her guise as Ms. Marvel to take down the Shocker only to find her powers short circuiting with her unable to control them.  Something that could bring about deadly results.  How Kamala and Bruno will cope with this frightening turn of events continues to be told in current story-arc in the pages of Ms. Marvel.  

[unpredictable-easty]

Unwinding Destiny Chapter 3

Being from another country, I have no idea how american education works yet I have tried to put some things in. I'll search it in more details for the next chapter. for now, enjoy this lovely treat. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Neither Heroes of Olympus nor Naruto belongs to me.

Enjoy!

Sasuke's day had been good enough for the first day of College that it was. He had been punctual for his classes and though the first class was more about discussing their syllabus and expectation on how difficult the studies would be from now on, he had enjoyed the new feeling of freedom that only came when you were in college. He thought about what his college professor had told him, he scoffed at the assumption those Professors had made, that High School was easy. He wondered if they had forgotten what it was like to be consumed with school work while trying to be good in sports, debates and any competition that institutions could come up with.

It was easy for him to get to classes, already memorizing the ways and his venture outside last night profited him exceedingly. He stopped for a moment; remembering what he had come to last night.

He had not expected Naruto to come back early so he was surprised to find him already asleep. He had flicked the light of the whole room but seeing him asleep, he had switched them off again. But even though he had seen Naruto for a moment in the glowing light of his room yet it had told him a lot. Naruto had been curled in himself; his knees came to his midsection while he laid there on his side. His hands had been resting near his head and it had felt like he was breathing heavily. Though he had not woken up, there had been some restlessness in him, like he was seeing a vivid dream. His mouthorgan had been lying next to him, near his hand, half-clutched. He had grimaced at thinking that he had missed him playing but he had ignored it for the moment. Itachi's words had rang in his mind; he was giving too much thought to Naruto. It would be better if he just went about his own business.

He resumed his walk to his destination. It was not difficult to ignore Naruto. He expected the heavy load that he would get from his classes. It would be difficult to do anything if he were to get to the top. He was an Uchiha and it was expected of him to be perfect in everything. Though he sometimes wondered that maybe Uchihas had never had heard of socializing considering how bad they had been at that from generations.

As he came near his room, he could hear a loud voice inside it. He unlocked the door and found Naruto inside with another guy. Sasuke assessed him, he had unruly brown hairs, there were two red tattoos shaped as triangle on both his cheeks and as he saw him laughing, Sasuke wondered at the sharpness of his canine teeth. Apparently Naruto had found a friend on his first day.

He shut the door and went to his side of the room while Naruto detailed something that had happened to him.

"… and I told the lady, 'You know, I think I can get your order faster if you just take your hands off my ass and what does she reply with? She says, 'One of my fetishes is starving." He finished.

The guy howled with laughter, slapping his leg as he laughed. Naruto snickered alongside him and fell back on his bed.

The guy controlled his laughter and looked toward Sasuke.

"You should do introduction, you manner less twat." The guy said.

"Huh?" Naruto said as he sat upright again.

The guy motioned toward Sasuke, who was trying to find the notebook that he had stashed somewhere in his bag.

"Oh, that's Sasuke. He's my roommate."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"And he's an asshole." Naruto glowered at him.

Sasuke just smirked, enjoying the glare Naruto sent his way.

"And asshole this is Kiba, he's with me in Greek Mythology class though I have no idea why, he can't even spell out the alphabets in Greek." Naruto said and laughed at the affronted look that crossed Kiba's face.

"Jerk, I have more knowledge of Greek Mythology then all your family put together."

"I hardly think so." Naruto said. Both of them looked at the blonde, his tone had changed at the last sentence like there was some mystery surrounding just those four words.

Naruto blinked at them and before Sasuke's own eyes, his eyes changed from serious cast to a goofy one. He wondered if Kiba noticed it but somehow he didn't think so. Sasuke shivered; there was something about Naruto that was forbidding. He remembered the conversation that Naruto and his uncle Orcus had and again a question jumped to his mind. What did he mean by Naruto's kind of people?

As he shook his head he noticed Naruto looking at him. His gaze made him worried. There was sadness in them and he wondered what the blonde was thinking at that moment. They stared at each other for a moment but it was broken as Kiba urged Naruto to hurry.

"Sasuke, do you want to come out with us? We are going out to find a good place to eat." Naruto said, back to his usual cheery self.

Sasuke's mouth twisted as he remembered his own hunger.

"No thanks, I'm going to library." He replied.

"Dude, it was the first day, I thought today professors just reviewed the syllabus in the slowest way possible." Kiba protested.

"Hn"

"Come on dude, let him study, at least we would be able to copy his notes from Greek Mythology class." Naruto said, smirking.

"He's in that class with us? Sweet!" Kiba said.

"I'm sure the delusional world that you live in is pretty great but hello reality, NO." Sasuke said.

"Don't worry, I can be pretty persuasive." Naruto said, a slow smile spreading on his face.

Sasuke gulped, was Naruto…. Flirting with him?

"Hn" He managed to say.

"Come on Kiba." Naruto said and turned toward the door.

"Dude, just so I know, is there something going on…?" Kiba said, motioning first toward him and then Naruto. Sasuke was pretty sure he was trying to whisper though he didn't succeed in doing that.

A flush rose on his face and he turned back to his bag to hide it.

There was a shuffle and then he heard Kiba's Ouch. It seemed like Naruto had punched him for being tactless idiot. Sasuke wondered if he could add his own punch to that.

There was a sudden silence in the room and though his back was to the door yet he could feel Naruto's eyes on him. He slowly turned, finding Naruto standing at the threshold, looking at him.

As his eyes met Naruto's, he could see the transformation again. Naruto smiled and waving closed the door. All Sasuke could wonder was what it said about him that he could understand clearly the play of emotions on the blonde's face.

Sasuke tried to concentrate on the book infront of him. It was on the forms, space and order of architecture, the subject he was majoring in. It was basic, just the start that he would have to go through. Though Uchiha family had hands in many businesses yet his interest lied in Architecture. He had been fascinated by building, the older, the better. Though he liked monuments and different amalgamation of designs yet his father's company dealt with building mostly Administration Buildings. Greek mythology and buildings carved with Greek heroes had been his interest all his life. His father was always talking about one or the other Greek stories. Sometimes Hercules, sometimes Achilles, some names were what Sasuke couldn't even remember. It was always heroics and fighting with his father, there would always be a story of one monster or the other dying through the hands of a hero. Just a few years before his death, his father had become more entangled in the stories. Talking about Gaia, Titans, Giants, Cyclopes and what else. The whole family had worried about him because of his obsession yet it had become alright just after a year that it had started.

He shook his head, dispelling the memories that came with remembering anything related to his parents. It had been one year and he was still coping but he was getting better, they both were. Sasuke wondered how Itachi would be feeling, sitting in their father's chair, making decision for his company; at least Sasuke was in an unfamiliar environment.

Sasuke sighed, it seemed like it was no use. Memories were attacking his mind and aside from that, there was something definitely wrong here. He felt a prickle at his side, like someone was watching him. He discreetly turned his head, making it look like he watching outside the window while examining the people around him. Everyone had their head buried in books, except for those who were apparently more interested in each other's eyes then what was written in their books, he grimaced at that. He tapped his finger, as he nonchalantly looked in his other direction and found himself looking in pair of terrifying dark pair of eyes. Apparently the librarian had a problem with him. He looked back to his book, stopping his finger from tapping another chord. It wasn't like he was making any noise, there was no one on his table, it being the first day, and it wasn't crowded. He wondered what he had done to her though her pinched features and upturned nose signaled that she probably didn't like anyone.

He looked at the watch, it was 7. Looking outside for real this time, he spotted the few lit lamps that he could see outside. The windows faced the campus, there was a lot of greenery in their campus and he could see trees casting dark shadows on the ground. For some reason he was wary of shadows, his father used to tell him how Hades' demons could come out of shadow and snatch anyone up.

He shut his book and stood up. He felt the inclination to stretch and feel some bones cracking but that was something that he wouldn't do. Being an Uchiha, he had to stop himself from doing those kinds of things in public. He rolled his eyes wondering how his ancestors would have the patience to live a whole life like that when he was already bored of carrying that façade by now. He put his notebook in his bag and picking up the book, walked toward the section where he had found it.

Placing the book on the shelf, he thought of first putting his bag back in the room and then go out for a couple of hours. He wondered what he could do now that he had decided to give it a rest. As he was walking out of the library, the buzz on his phone decided for him. It was from a guy that he had his architecture class with. His name was Neji Hyuga. He knew him by his family name, Hyugas were counted as one of the aristocratic families and meeting one of them in his class was both good and bad. It was good because he would have a friend who knew how difficult it was to go through family expectation; on the other hand members of two big families in one class resulted in a pretty big competition.

He read the message, asking if he was free to go out with a few friends. Sasuke shrugged thinking it to be a good opportunity to socialize. He made his way through the students, walking under the halogen lights above him. Around him shadows of trees moved as winds swayed the branches. The shadows looked like there were fingers reaching toward him, shaking as if they were part of some old man's hand. He kept himself calm, remembering that those were just stories, not anything real. Besides there were many students, it wasn't like the shadows would swallow him up infront of so many witnesses.

He stopped a moment, shaking his head at the thoughts in his head, he was going mental. He should enjoy the college life yet here he was, afraid of mere shadows.

Occupying his thoughts with his classes, he made his way to his dorm building. He fished out his pockets for keys as the door came into view. Unlocking the door, he entered and shut it. As he flicked his lights, he saw that Naruto still hadn't gotten back. Putting his bag in the proper place, he opened his closet and looked inside. He was not particularly picky on deciding what to wear so he just chose a blue tee with a band name on it and black skinny jeans. Checking his hair and trying to make some sense of it, he left it as the hopeless case as it was. Checking the time on his watch and wallet to be in pocket, he put on his sneakers and taking a look around, switched off the light and locked the door behind himself.

[mercerislandbooks]

The Violins of Saint-Jacques and Other Things We Can’t Forget

One of my favorite reads this past summer was a fat historical family saga set on a lush Caribbean island. Sounds delicious, right? It was. I tore through it in  a single sitting and was completely transported by it. Only when I put it down did I realize it’s not fat at all—it got the job done in a mere 160 pages. Put me in mind of that delicate, multi-layered French dessert, the mille-feuille.

The French connection is particularly apt, since The Violins of Saint-Jacques takes place in what’s sometimes known as the DOM-TOM, the Départements d'outre-mer–Territoires d'outre-mer. These are the overseas regions administered by France, former colonies in the New World. More specifically, the setting is the fictitious island of Saint-Jacques in the earliest years of the 20th century, a place and time recalled by an old woman who is one of its last remaining expatriates.

Isolated in the Antilles, Saint-Jacques is a place that’s developed its own blended culture, partly ruled by Old World traditions of decorum that are occasionally flouted with an insouciant air. Political conflicts arise as the officious new governor butts heads with the established Creole families who actually run things, but the real intrigue is romantic and personal. Glances are exchanged, secret notes are passed, and everything culminates on the night of glorious masked ball that must be one of the greatest party scenes in literature.

What makes the novel such a pleasure is the way it builds its world. The strongly drawn characters, the intensity of their feeling, the detailed descriptions, and especially the wonderful cadence of author Patrick Leigh Fermor’s sentences combine to create a sense of incomparable verisimilitude. Here’s a sample passage about the decaying grandeur of the aristocratic clan at the center of this mini-epic:

The Serindans were related to all the French families of the archipelago and their affiliations spread as far afield as the Guianas and Louisiana and Quebec; even to Nova Scotia—or rather, as [the patriarch] still insisted on calling it, to Acadie. Their position in Saint-Jacques was Olympian. The church at Beauséjour, which had been unroofed by a score of hurricanes and a score of times roofed over again, was walled and paved with memorial slabs, each topped by a stone helmet with its frozen foliage of mantelling and the emblems of dead Serindans. The orgulous record of their gestures—the carnage they had wrought among the Caribs and the English, their Christian virtues, the multitude of their progeny, their valour in attack and their impavid patience in adversity, the suavity of their manners, the splendour of their munificence and their pious ends—was incised with a a swirling seventeenth-century duplication of long S’s and a cumulative nexus of dog-Latin superlatives that hissed from the shattered slabs like a basketful of snakes.

The complex society on parade is perilously architected, and from the very first pages it’s clear to the reader that Saint-Jacques is an idyll not meant to last. It’s not a spoiler to say that the smoldering volcano at the heart of the island proves to be more than just a metaphor in the end. The ghosts of this novel may no longer exist—not that they ever really did—but they continue to haunt. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Yet something nagged at me the whole time I read it. This novel was originally published in 1953, the only fiction travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor ever produced, and one aspect of it is hard to swallow in 2017. The world of Saint-Jacques, sophisticated and charming and relatable, is built on the back of slavery. Though the institution was outlawed well before the events of the story, the island is nonetheless still dependent upon it. The colonial plantations that generated the wealth that roofed the church so many times and carved so many memorial slabs are still overseen by white Europeans and worked by the descendants of African slaves. This isn’t something that Fermor ignores—the governor’s vulgar disdain for the black population is crucial to the plot, and there are other mentions of the fraught racial dynamics at play—but it isn’t something he foregrounds, either. This is a novel about white experience, written with a white audience in mind.

While I don’t think there’s anything intrinsically wrong about writing in such a way, anyone who’s thoughtful enough to enjoy a book like this is also thoughtful enough to realize that there’s something off about making art that’s dependent on black characters without giving them voice. Perhaps that wouldn’t be the case if our bookshelves and theaters were filled with a proportionate number of works that feature people of color speaking about their experience, but they aren’t. This is why director Sofia Coppola took deserved flak for her otherwise praised film adaptation of The Beguiled. That novel focuses on a houseful of women during the American Civil War but features only one black character, one that Coppola eliminated when writing her screenplay, leaving the movie even whiter than the book. Both works are worthwhile, but once you notice what’s missing from each you can’t stop thinking about it.

I pondered these issues when I closed The Violins of Saint-Jacques, mostly in vain. It’s one thing to be aware of them, but it’s hard to know what there is to do about them. By coincidence, that very same day I saw a tweet from a bookseller I know in Tacoma. He was soliciting donations of books for Lincoln High School, specifically requesting copies of Citizen by Claudia Rankine. One of the most acclaimed books of the year, Citizen is an amalgamation of image, essay, and poetry that explores racism in modern America, from the most blatant violent acts to the most subtle aggressions against people of color. Perfect, I thought. If there’s one thing I can do better than anybody, it’s buy books. So I pitched in for a few copies, and I wasn’t alone. Enough copies have poured in that full classrooms in more than one school are now stocked with books. And they’re still collecting—if you want to contribute a copy, I’d be happy to make sure it makes its way from our store to Tacoma. It’s a start.

--James

[solivagantis]

After the pressure retreats together with the bear, you find yourself being able to take deeper breaths again. It's not as if you felt suffocated before — not enough for it to cause anything beyond discomfort, in any case — but the difference is apparent. And the bear costume is only an ember to the inferno of Kagutsuchi's final vessel. Remembering your first and last battle with the god, you wonder how you'd been able to keep from burning your lungs out with the scorching air alone. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but then again, gods rarely do.

A couple of minutes pass as you stay put to see if the bear would come back. When there's no doubt about the answer, a resounding "no", you finally lower your weapon, and with some consideration, sheath it. Tension drains from your body, shoulders dropping and muscles relaxing. A quick check-in with Izanagi confirms your thoughts — the bear has left the two of you well and truly alone.

Not sure what to make of the encounter, you hold off picking up the shard, instead approaching the control panel. The monitors still show the sprawling architecture of the school. Hallways and classrooms, Persona fragments glimmering in the dimmed light, schoolgrounds with a lone Shadow slinking towards the building. And no sign of General Teddie.

Leaning over the panel, you start playing with the controls. Flicking switches and pushing buttons at random, watching the surveillance feed change. Just to have something to occupy your hands with while you think.

Your options are limited at best. Either leave with the fragment, or without it. Your job compels you to do the former, but you have reservations. Kagutsuchi, despite acting cagey, wanted you to take it. The bear even went as far as lying about preparing the scene just for you to make it more appealing. Hell, you'd witnessed the whole spectrum, from denial to bargaining to threats to coaxing. Nothing was spared to goad you into taking it. Something is amiss here.

At some point, your fingers start drumming on the metal surface. Forcing your hand to still, you push yourself away from the console and approach the fragment. It lays on the floor, glow steady and soft, unchanged by the departure of its previous holder. Izanagi, following your command before you can formulate it, starts the scan. Sword unsheathed once again, you give the shard a few hesitant taps with the blunt edge. A clear, bell-like tone rings out, filling the announcement room.

You can't leave with empty hands. Or, rather, you can, but you don't want to. Apart from completing a mission that was supposed to result in nothing, leaving the fragment here seems unwise. If there's something wrong with it — and there is — wouldn't it be better to take it back with you? Besides, if you leave it here, someone else can stumble upon it. Someone even less equipped to deal with this than you are. Whatever danger it might pose, it would be safer with the Operatives.

It is a Persona fragment, Izanagi prods you. But not an individual one. You're looking at an amalgamation of many Personae in solid form, all soaked in Kagutsuchi's residual power. A bit of Konohana Sakuya, a bit of Trismegistus, a bit of Sukuna-Hikona. And, true to the bear's word, a bit of Izanagi.

Although the piece was carved off when Izanagi was still just Izanagi, not Izanagi-no-Mikoto, the presence of it excites the Persona a great deal, it feels like Izanagi would chirp if given the means to. As it is, you're left with clawed hands squeezing your shoulders, a high-frequency pitch in your head, and a Persona floating up and down like an overenthusiastic child.

In the end, it's probably Izanagi who prompts you to pick one option over the other.

Crouched in front of the fragment, you stare into the core, where the crystal loses its translucency. The essences of Personae supposedly reside there, mingling together in a powerful cocktail of inner energy. And not just any Personae. For all of your fervor to get to the top of the tower, you never considered Izanagi. Getting a piece of yourself torn out had to be painful. You don't feel in any way less now, years after the whole ordeal, but looking at the way your Persona is acting...

An exasperated sigh escapes you. Sitting here doing nothing only wastes time. In one motion, you take a hold of the fragment.

And immediately hiss as searing pain shoots up your arm. Your whole body staggers forward in shock, free hand immediately darting out to brace it, keep you relatively upright. The shard burns, scalds under your fingers, making a disgusting seething sound, and you can't get it off. Your grip refuses to relax, palm glued to the smooth material. You can only watch, numb to everything but your hand. Oh god, did your skin melt into the fucking thing? Fuck fuck fuck it hurts.

That's when adrenaline kicks in, propelling you out of your stupor. Everything around you sharpens as pain dulls with the express purpose of getting you out of this as soon as possible. Your mind, tripping over the way the fragment brightens, now radiant and fluctuating like a desperate, frantic heartbeat an overcharged lightbulb about to explode, hyperfocuses on one task: tear it off. Damage control later.

Any other time, you would try to control the adrenaline rush. But now is not any other time. What the hell is wrong with this thing, it hurts more than any fire spell ever did. Manic energy dominating your every move, you scramble to your knees and lift the bad hand over your head, only to bring it down on the floor with all the force you can muster. And then again. And again, and again. Each blow sends more pain through your hand as ridges of the white-hot rock dig into your palm. But it's fine. A crack begins forming across the shard, spreading as it's slammed into the ground. For one sickening moment, you feel the crystal sink into your flesh, past the skin and deeper, before shattering under the abuse.

You stay still after, listening to the blood pounding in your ears. As the adrenaline high passes and the energy saps away, you're left with a collection of cold, colorless remnants and a hand that hurts like all hell.

Exhausted by the exertion, you get up to your feet and shuffle over to the control panel, a slight sway in your step. After sitting yourself down on the headboard, you look up. During the... situation, all contact with Izanagi ceased. Still, the Persona is here, previous enthusiasm noticeably soured. Right. The injury has to be dealt with.

Although you'd rather avoid it; the sharp smell of burned meat doesn't enthuse you much.

Now ever so closer to you, Izanagi extends his hands, patient before anything else. In a way, the sight of your Persona being fussy eases your apprehension. Sliding down the control panel, you reach out with your own hand.

The damage can only be described as a crater. A rapid incline mars the flesh of your palm where the fragment came into contact with it. Charred, your fingers still twitch involuntarily in response to pain. To test the movement, you ball your hand into a fist and back, scrunching your nose at the unnatural feeling of skin stretching to its limits and catching on the edges of the wound. Funnily enough, it's the edges that hurt, not the hollow. In fact, when you touch the stiff, bile-yellow tissue in the cavity, there's no feeling at all.

Before you can do any more harm to yourself, Izanagi seizes you by the wrist, claws tracing over the branded, leathery flesh. At the same time, the refreshing trickle of healing magic flows through your veins, relieving the pain. Not enough to stop it altogether, but you're not going to complain.

Still bothered by something, Izanagi pries your fingers open. The wound looks— bad, you're not going to sugarcoat it, but you don't see what else can be done at this point. The stupid rock really did a number on you, you have no energy to expend on further healing. One more time, your eyes glide over your palm, trying to figure out what about it irks Izanagi.

And then you see it. A bleary stain of sickly green among yellows and browns and reds.

God—damnit.

...Truth be told, extracting the piece turns out to be a straightforward process. Yes, it sits deep in the meat of your palm, where no foreign object should, and yes, it's caked over with a hard crust of dead membrane, but all in all, it's not too bad. A box cutter found after rummaging through the tables around the announcement room does the trick. Courtesy of burned nerves, picking at the wound is painless, if off-putting.

After the piece is uprooted from its resting place, some fused in tendons still clinging to it, it becomes clear why you hadn't noticed it sooner. It's a minuscule, insignificant splinter, even smaller than those scattered around the school. The only thing that sets it apart is the color. It retained its green tint where all other remnants of the shard lost theirs.

You offer it to Izanagi, who's been staying silent while you defaced your hand even more. With a great deal of reluctance, the Persona accepts, too-big hands careful and fumbling at the same time. But the second the splinter comes into contact with Izanagi, it ignites to life, and all caution is thrown to the wind. Claws clicking together, Izanagi clutches the splinter between his palms and curls in on himself, drinking up the energy.

How long it lasts, you're not sure. The light Izanagi radiates makes your vision swim, and the next thing you know, you're being steadied by your Persona. Like before, you don't feel any changes in your condition. Izanagi, though, Izanagi is... different. It's hard to tell exactly how. He looks healthier, if Personae can look healthier. Maybe the colors of his coat grow less dull. Can white be less dull?

Doesn't matter. Izanagi is feeling better, and that's all you need to know. Kicking back from your position on the edge of the control panel, you lean on the glass behind you. Cold metal dotted with buttons and switches doesn't make for the best seat, but you can't find it in yourself to bother locating a better one. "At least something good came out of this disaster," you comment in a diplomatic tone. Izanagi, for the lack of voice or any facial features, only nods in response. The room is quiet, save for the whir of servers in the corner. You exhale, tired and drawn-out.

Just a little bit of rest before heading back.

[kisarastrife]

Endless Night

So I had a little headcanon that the Kingsglaive members would bring back Cactuar figurines for Talcott Hester. And this kind of grew from that thought.

“ Years after Noct's disappearance and the onset of the Starscourge, Iris and the others come to the conclusion that living in Cape Caem is no longer feasible. But she finds it harder than she imagined to leave this ramshackle house she made into her home. This house with its countless Cactuar figurines.”

- - I know that the night must end and that the sun will rise. - - 

It hadn't been home for a long time but now that it came time to leave Iris felt an unexpected sadness.

Life outside the Crown City had seemed a detached adventure at first. They had made the fleeing break to Lestallum the day of the treaty-signing in a haze of panic and incomprehensible shock. They had almost reached the Disc of Cauthess when news had reached them of Insomnia's fall; the remaining journey had passed in numb shell-shocked silence.

His Majesty was dead, the other council members ... her father. Her big strong father who had been so busy he had even slept at the Citadel in the days leading up to the treaty-signing. She had turned that last day over and over in her head – going to the Citadel with his change of clothes and returning home, meeting the limping Kingsglaive man on the way and helping him with his crutches.

It seemed like an age ago now, not a few years. Her thoughts had been different then too; school would return after the treaty-signing and she had hoped to finalise her career thoughts. Thumbing the end of her scarf, she smiled and wondered what her teenage self would have thought of a daemon-hunting occupation.

Back then she had convinced herself it was all a simple vacation; they would spend a little time in Lestallum and then head back to the Crown City, finding all of the reports had been lies spread by Niflheim. Noctis and Lady Lunafreya had been reported dead and both of them were sighted alive in the aftermath, so she had silently convinced herself that the other deaths must be false rumours too.

But then Jared had been killed. And with him had been murdered any innocent ideals she had held for the darkening world around her.

Cape Caem had once been a beacon to passing ships and she looked on the lighthouse from a similar perspective. Insomnia was in the past. Being a slave to the past could consume and corrupt, but giving a future to those who wanted to see it was everything.

That was the mantra Iris clung to and she woke every morning with an excited vigour; her father would want her to be happy. Her brother had his own worries to contend with, so she smiled and made herself happy by helping those around her. She wanted to see the future and she would do so.

She remembered how difficult those first few weeks in Caem had been; people had to learn to live together and make do with what was left. The old house had been in utter disrepair when they had arrived and it had taken them almost two days to move the massive boulder that had crushed the veranda. Talcott had retreated into himself by then and she couldn't convince him to be of any help. Instead she, Cindy, the restaurant owner Tony and Monica Elshett of the Crownsguard had cantilevered the boulder four feet and away from the house's crushed stairs and veranda.

Cor had arrived the next day and Iris had felt so relieved by the Marshal's presence. He was a man of legendary acclaim but with a calming aura that could quieten any confrontation. Talcott had been grieving and angry and Cid had been tired and mourning too ... and the two had been in the grips of a shouting match when Monica led Cor to the house. A half-hour later and the Marshal had not only convinced Cid to resume work on the King's boat, but had recruited Talcott in relocating the boulder to the fence. She had found him later that night working by lamplight with Monica, his katana carving Jared's name into the boulder.

"Hey Iris, c'mon darlin' – the truck's ready and Aranea sent reports of daemons by Ol' Lestallum."

The radio on her hunting vest crackled to life and Iris shook herself at Cindy's voice; they were running one of the last convoys from Caem to Lestallum. The Starscourge had settled over Eos a few years ago and the only place still with power was where they had first fled to. Irony was a funny thing.

Gladdy, Ignis and Prompto were on-hand to help with the latest relocation of civilians; they had some refugees from Altissia this time and Cid had finally given in to Cindy and agreed to settle in the safety of the town, downright sour about it too. They would drop off the newcomers and then head on to Hammerhead to convene with Dave and other hunters at their makeshift stronghold.

But why was it so hard to leave this old house that had never been hers? The fields were long barren now; nothing grew in the unending darkness and no fish bit at lures. Turning on the spot to take in one last look around, she smiled and saw residual memories play out before her; the morning Prompto had almost fallen down the stairs and Monica of all people had snapped a photograph of it. Then the night she had finally plucked up the courage and asked Cor to train her alongside the boys. A glint caught her eye and she smiled and picked up the renegade Cactuar figure; she thought Talcott had rounded them all up for the move.

It had been years since Noctis disappeared and they awaited his return with steadfast faith. All of them had changed in those years; Cindy was always busy but she had recently softened to Prompto's constant marriage proposals, Gladio worked a lot with Aranea and Iris had joined Ignis on a handful of hunts between her travels with the Marshal. But Talcott was the one who had changed the most; gone was the little boy and somewhere over the years she had helped to raise a fine young hunter. He was tall, strong and the kindest young man – all thanks to an amalgamated effort from everyone; even Dino Ghiranze had begun to teach him how to forge accessories.

But one thing never changed; he still loved Cactuars.

"The way is clear to Lestallum, but we have Red Giants and Necromancers spawning by Malmalam Thicket. I don't mean to hurry you, but ..."

Turning the figurine over in her hand, Iris smiled and nodded as Cor appeared in the doorway and spoke lowly. The small Cactuar looked to be made of some kind of glass material, a purple string hanging from one of its arms. She followed the Marshal out the door and down the rebuilt steps, slowly walking away from her home.

Talcott had collected so many of the models over the years she idly wondered where on Eos this little one had come from. Turning it upside down, she squinted at the rudimentary label on its base. Cor's jacket light helped her decipher the faded handwriting.

"One of a kind, Talcott – made in Galahd for a hero like you. Nyx."

She looked up at Cor in silent query and he merely shrugged. Galahd had been an island region to Insomnia's north-east but the Empire had raided it many years ago. The model had probably been found and sold on by some street vendor.

Finally making it to the cavalcade of trucks, Iris pocketed the Cactuar and smiled as she recognised a few faces; Weskham from Altissia, Camelia Claustra and that limping Kingsglaive man she had once helped with his crutches. A woman and little girl accompanied him; there was a future and these people would see it. That was everything.