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canyouhearthelight · 5 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 88

Sophia, the day after her conversation with Tyche.

Thank you to @satan-parisienne and @baelpenrose for keeping me going and on an even keel! Sorry the Author’s Note is so short... I didn’t realize until I had about 10 mins before I had to be back at work that I forgot to queue this for today *facepalm*

The next day was an entire education on new places I could be sore. A hot shower and analgesics only took the barest edge off, and I ended up needing a transport to get to my office instead of my routine walk. I did my best to ignore the grin on Conor’s face every time I moved too fast and winced. After the third time I scowled at him, I brought up my datapad and did some research, careful not to tap my legs as I gestured, which had become something of a habit.

“That snot,” I gasped. Conor glanced at me, so I clarified. “Tyche had me doing fencing footwork yesterday…. Intermediate footwork, it turns out. No wonder I’m so sore.”

“Least it wasn’t sparring,” he pointed out cheerfully, gently lifting my chin to get a look at my lip. “You should have let Noah heal that, love.”

I brushed my cheek against his hand. “I want the reminder. May even let her do it again once it heals.”

This time, it was his turn to scowl. “Not funny. That face has been bruised enough for one lifetime.” He gently rubbed my cheek as the transport stopped. “Okay, time to go be the boss. No fighting with the other kids.” Despite the joking tone, his eyes were serious as he leaned in to kiss me before he headed to his shift.

I realized that Alistair not only beat me to work, but could apparently hear me groaning as I tried to walk, because the door opened before I was even within three feet of it. True to form, he gave me an appraising look before his expression settled on my face. “Door get a bit mouthy today? Or did your feet decide you needed to stay home?”

“Tyche punched me, actually.” My tone was light as I inched my way to my desk. “For defending myself. And then she decided I need more ways to defend myself, so now I can hardly move.”

“Solid logic,” he deadpanned as he handed me a cup of coffee. “I feel obliged to point out that the coffee is hot, seeing as you display a disturbing propensity to get hurt.”

“Very funny.”

“You have been warned, et cetera, so on, so forth.” He waved a hand nonchalantly as he turned, bringing up my agenda for the day. “Your first meeting is the one to discuss medical testing ethics, criteria for volunteers, and determination of the necessity of the procedures. Then you have time set aside to review the status of the Galactic Core Curriculum, along with proposals for expanded learning topics and their existing analogues in the education systems of other planets - “ He paused and tilted his head. “I will never cease to be caught off guard when sentences like that exist.”

I restrained the urge to nod - or more accurately, my back twinged with a warning not to even consider it. “Believe me, I understand. Noah and I were talking about other species a few weeks ago. Did you know there is a species of avians out there who essentially live on a planet with no surface atmosphere?”

“The Preeyar, yes,” he sighed wistfully. “Knowing that Fermi was simply impatient has been quite eye-opening, so to speak.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong,” I conceded. “We were too young for extraterrestrial civilizations, we weren’t listening properly, they apparently weren’t trying to contact us until recently… But they do exist.” A smile crept on my face at the idea that we really hadn’t been alone in the universe.

My office door opened without warning, and a familiar voice chimed in as Alistair turned with clenched fists. “I do argue that we are entirely too dangerous to have been contacted.” Arthur Farro stood leaning against the frame, and Alistair relaxed marginally. “At least we were until relatively recently…. Throwing nuclear ordinance at each other the moment killing each other in the thousands - rather than the millions - stopped scratching that vicious itch. Who does that? We’re like demented eight-year-olds who got bored of burning ants and started setting each other’s hair on fire instead.”

“You really should keep that door secured,” my assistant sniffed as he closed out my agenda, right around the time he caught Arthur squinting at it.

“He has the code,” I admitted.

“Or maybe that was accidental,” our resident history teacher continued, ignoring us. “I’m a big fan of assuming stupidity instead of malice where possible. And, dear lord, does our track record make it plausible.” Finally entering the room, he flicked a finger at my face. “That was not, however.”

Before I could stop him, Alistair took one glance between me and my friend, and strode to the door. “No.”

“Alistair…”

“I’ll clear your calendar. No. Have a good day.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Arthur asked as the door closed behind my soon-to-be-ex assistant.

“That he’s a coward,” I muttered.

“You know damned well that’s not what I mean.”

“Tyche already decked me.” I gestured at my split lip and the bruise that bloomed on my chin overnight. “So, yeah, I know - “

“No, you really don’t seem to.”

“Arthur, stop.”

“I will not.” He stepped forward and placed both his hands, palms down, on my desk. He knew I hated that gesture. “Bjornson’s entire narrative hinges on you being more dangerous than anyone realizes, and you putting up a display of false helplessness to make everyone trust you. By decking one of his followers, not only did you show that you do, in fact, have violence in you - meaning that it’s now entirely plausible you’re as Machiavellian as they claim - but you’ve also gone and indicated for whatever reason that Jokull is enough of a threat to drop that premise.” Straightening, he crossed his arms in clear disappointment. “If you wanted to give him more credibility, good job. You succeeded.”

I swallowed every bit of hurt I felt at his words, reminding myself they were nowhere near as barbed as the ones Tyche had given me the day before. Instead, I tilted my head and arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you done? Did you say everything you needed to say?” I paused, giving him a chance to respond. When he didn’t, I poked harder. “Feel better?”

“Not particularly, but big picture? I’m not a terribly gleeful person, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. But yes, it is your turn now.”

“Gracious of you,” I cooed sarcastically. “Tyche made the same points yesterday, after punching me in the face, with the added gravitas of a guilt trip served with that special seasoning of having watched me almost die and thinking I abandoned her as a child. Also three hours with a rapier, whipping my ass. So. Far more impressive, I assure you.”

“Foiled again by the smaller Reid,” he sighed dramatically before catching himself. “Rapier, you say? I was going to say no pun intended, but I’ve decided I did that on purpose. Yep. Totally intentional.”

I rolled my eyes before pulling up my tunic to show the bruises on my midriff. “I’m not very good at it, for the record.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, saber’s a better style anyway. And I’m not just saying that because it’s my favorite.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded, not entirely convinced. “As far as Bjornson… seriously. She gave me the scoop. I seriously fubared the entire situation yesterday. Apparently, our suspected cult leader only believes in physical attacks on those who would defend themselves. No honor in beating a beaten foe, et cetera.”

“Mmm hmmm,” he nodded, like I was a student he was letting reach her own conclusion.

“Which means I just made it open season on Sophias,” I groaned.

“Really, saber is much better for brawling tactics,” he hedged.

I laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t matter. My walking privileges are revoked until further notice. Must be accompanied by one of six people, or two out of another ten, and on a transport.” The last word came out like a profanity. It was a known fact I hated using them.

Hence why I was now being forced to, unfortunately.

“If you think there is any possibility that I’m going to argue against Tyche on that decision, I need to talk to her about that head scan,” he told me pointedly. “Then again, you and I have different definitions of the word ‘think’, but I’ll be clear - it’s not happening. Moving target, faster than a walking pace, with a protective attachment? Which roster am I on, again?”

“Very funny. You already know.”

His expression softened slightly when he realized I was actually upset. “There is some good news in all of this.”

I threw up my hands and spun in my chair. “Oh, do tell, great military historian and warlord. What is the shining silver lining to the fact that I just gave a man who thinks I am the only thing standing between him and his New Start a golden ticket to sic his followers on me?”

“Okay, first off, sassy shit, my main career is a school teacher. I only moonlighted as a warlord to pay those apocalypse bills. Not my fault I was good at it.” Suddenly, he got serious. “The good new is, if he was too stupid to realize that your talent for inspiring loyalty meant you were a massive problem for any takeover plan, and a problem he’d have to deal with sooner or later….. Well, he’s probably too stupid to keep his little cult together much longer. Leaders who don’t recognize more than one kind of strength never manage to build a lasting legacy.”

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair…” I said, half to myself.

“Yeah, our guy is no Ramses II,” Arthur replied. “Besides, those who seek power are rarely good at keeping it.”

“I would have given him my seat on the Council if he’d just asked,” I admitted.

“Besides the fact that you literally just proved my point, if he was suited to the Council, he’d be on it. It’s not like you were the only candidate.”

I shrugged. “No idea. I didn’t even know I was on the Council for the first week. I think it was a week.”

When I turned to look at him, I was met with a flat stare. “I know it was explained to you at some point. How does that search function work?” He reached forward like he was going to tap my head before I swatted his hand away. “You were appointed to the Council to replace Simon, you represent a specific population on board the Ark, when we arrive at Von, you will serve an additional two planetary standard years before elections are held, of which you cannot be a candidate….”

Ugh. “I was put forward as a recommendation by Simon. The other Councillors put forward their candidates. The population I represent voted based on my personnel file, since no one even knew any of the candidates at that point. We’d only been on the Ark about six months. Some of us, anyway.” Glaring, I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t know how you figured that out, but I have a feeling I’m going to kill someone.”

He waved a hand at me in a very familiar gesture. “I see other people do it all the time. Jog your memory, and some phrase or word triggers it. Cool to watch, though.” With a shrug, he continued. “Point is, Bjornson wasn’t even a candidate, same as me.”

“How do you know that?” I asked incredulously.

“Fuck, Sophia. You really need to keep track of your constituents.”

“Hey, I didn’t even want to be a - Wait. You are one of my so-called ‘constituents’!?”

“Even voted for you,” he grinned. “Didn’t know it was you-you, but… Communications background, peaceful but intelligent attributes to balance out our resident warhawk, fair enough to offset Huynh, and you seemed like the type to actually listen to Grey, Pranav, and Eino.” He shrugged. “To be fair, I was right.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #aliens #apocalypse #science fiction #original fiction #my writing #earth is space australia #humans are space orcs

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eury--dice · 4 years ago

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history, huh?

chapter 4: proxime

check the notes for links to other chapters and ao3!

(also would like to note a general cw for alcohol and child abuse in this chapter - see ao3/message me for more detail and please be safe and avoid if necessary)

Adam kind of wanted to go back and slap his former self before he could announce anything was “perfect.”

It was only once the turkeys were deposited in his room by blank-faced handlers that he began to regret his decision. The turkeys stared ominously at him, eerily silent for all of five seconds before they started to move and gobble.

And they didn’t stop.

SOS, he texted Ronan simply, receiving a lone question mark in reply.

iMessage chat to HRH shitty bird boy

Resumed 28 November, 2019, 12:36 am

It’s the turkeys. I saved taxpayers needless expense and now they’re going to peck me to death.

told you to stop playing the hero, Parrish.

NOW IS NOT THE TIME

CORNBREAD IS EYEING ME

Some support would be appreciated here

i’m going to assume that cornbread is one of the turkeys and not a sentient loaf of cornmeal?

No, Your Highness, I’ve been performing a complicated experiment involving a snack to see if it can gain intelligence. The crocheted eyes appear to be working.

No shit, Sherlock, good assumption.

And excuse you, in the South, we make cornbread with real corn.

if you’re going to jest don’t include hobbies that seem plausible

The science experiment or the crocheting?

both.

When would I do either of those?

fuck if i know, that’s your business.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit

Meatloaf is gobbling again.

Is gobbling a precursor to attack?

Would google it but I’m too afraid to take my eyes off of the dinos.

gobbling is widely known as a war declaration amongst turkeys

i’m surprised a smartarse like you wouldn’t know this.

Oh, fuck it, Adam thought, and before he could talk himself out of it and resign himself to a night of gobbling, the dial icon had been tapped and the glass of his phone felt cool against his hearing ear.

“Have you ever shared close quarters with a turkey?”

Adam could feel Ronan’s unimpressed silence through the phone. “No, I have not. Why the hell would I?”

“Privileged,” Adam muttered. “You don’t know how sadistic these turkeys are.”

Cornbread chose that moment to gobble rather loudly and antagonistically. Adam’s eyes snapped to the bird, his muscles freezing in pure fear. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Christ,” Ronan said, and his tone had softened somewhat. “Did a turkey make that noise?”

“Yep,” Adam breathed.

“That is not natural,” he insisted. “What the fuck?”

“I told you!”

A squawk sounded on Ronan’s end, and when Ronan spoke his voice was a great deal gentler than it had been. “Good baby, your noises aren’t demonic…”

“I’ll assume you’re not speaking to me.”

“Fuck no. Every word out of your mouth comes straight from hell.” There was a muffled rustling nose, something that was probably feathers against skin.

“Your bird?”

“Raven. Keep up, please.”

“Ravens are birds,” Adam said, but it was probably futile. “What’s its name again?”

There was a brief pause on Ronan’s end. “Her name is Chainsaw.”

Adam’s voice fell flat in response. “Chainsaw.”

He heard a kerah. “Something wrong with that?” Ronan said, his accent drawing out the o in ‘wrong’ like it was already a guilty verdict .

“It just doesn’t seem very...royal. Or bird-like.”

“It’s a good cry better than cornbread and stuffing.”

“I didn’t name them,” Adam defended. “Blame the American people.”

“But I already blame them for so much.”

“Add it to the laundry list.” Adam flinched back as the other turkey squawked deafeningly.

It was the first time he and Ronan had spoken on the phone, and until then, he hadn’t even realized it. All it took was Cornbread’s evil gaze to snap him into reality.

Silence settled between them for a moment. Adam barely dared to breathe between the awkwardness of his conversation with Ronan and his clearly impending doom at the hands of something only distantly related to dinosaurs.

“If you get mauled by those turkeys, may I give the eulogy at your funeral?”

Adam snorted, drawn back to the feeling of the phone clenched in his hand. “Ignoring the fact that I’m the son of the President and you’re the Prince of England, absolutely.”

“Good. I’m already drafting turkey-related jokes.”

“Don’t you dare dishonor me by bringing up the cause of my demise.”

“It’s a good thing Cornbread will have clawed your esophagus out and you’ve no possible way to object.”

“Jesus.” Adam shivered. “Now I have a third part to my nightmare.”

“I would trade you Chainsaw, but she goes for the eyes and I have the feeling you’d rather keep those.”

“Your feeling is correct.”

“Also, I would fucking die for her.”

“...Strong feelings, apparently, for a bird that doesn’t seem royal-approved.”

“That’s half the reason I love her,” Ronan admitted. “Most definitely not approved.”

“Just like your tattoo?”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Yes,” Ronan finally said. “Just like my tattoo.”

That line was back, and Adam inched ever-closer to touching it with his toes.

“No trade, then. I’ll just slowly perish alone in my room. If this causes a fiasco in the press be sure to make fun of me properly.”

“Of course,” Ronan said, just as Stuffing let out a deafening gobble. “Can’t you get Sargent to intimidate them into silence? Or, wait, is it charming them into liking her? I can’t figure her out from your description.”

“Knowing Blue it could be either,” Adam admitted. “And she’s...busy.”

“Busy how?”

“Back in Virginia busy.” Adam stretched out his shoulder, keeping a wary eye on the turkeys.

“Virginia? With family?”

“Most of her family is Maura, and she’s still here,” Adam hedged, weighing the little he knew about the Sargent family with what he could say to Ronan. “But yeah, of a sort. Thanksgiving’s a rough time of year. She’s trying to help out, even though it’s not technically where she’s from. Raising money, ensuring shelter, I think she’s even got a protest planned.”

“Different shade of Sargent, then.”

“Same shade,” Adam corrected. “Different circumstances.”

Ronan hummed on the other end of the line. Adam scrambled for words, trying to lighten up the air. Stuffing squawked as though to mock his tied tongue.

“She’s been busy for the last few weeks, anyway.”

“What type of busy would this busy be?”

"Just start a new sentence. You sound ridiculous." Ronan stayed silent to his jab, clearly electing to ignore him. “...Date busy.”

“Good for her,” Ronan said, but he must have heard something else in Adam’s silence because he continued. “Wait. No. No fucking way. Not with Gansey?”

“Yes with Gansey.”

“Wow, third wheeling’s gotta be even more fucking awkward, huh?”

“God, I hope not.”

“The way you described them I thought they’d never wake up to it.”

“Me too,” Adam said. “And I’m thrilled for them, but I’m also very offended that their feelings are getting in the way of saving me. Gansey went with her.”

“Oh, you drama queen. Just sleep in Gansey’s room if the gobbling is that bad.”

“They can escape, Ronan, I swear to you. They’re like the raptors-”

“They’re named after fatty foods. You’ll be alright. Go the fuck to sleep.”

“...Yeah, alright. But you need to sleep too.”

“Wouldn't dream of letting you sleep alone,” Roman replied, his tone dry. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

As Adam let his phone fall onto his pillow, Stuffing chose to bash her wings against the cage. After almost falling out of his bed in fright, Adam quickly decided that Ronan might have been onto something about sleeping in Gansey’s room.

If he made it through the night, he owed Ronan a thank you.

***

Christmas rolled around with a mighty fervor.

It felt like one moment, Adam was sitting back down in class after Thanksgiving to crack down on some new essays, and the next he was watching evergreens and pine decorations get thrown up along White House walls in perfect synchrony.

The normal White House Christmas was an ordeal, one that did its best to stress family but mostly stressed political strategy. Nothing changed that year to make it different, but they did have a smaller affair in addition to all the festivities. Christmas Eve was, in many ways, the eye of the storm. An extreme amount of chaos was behind them, and a deluge to follow come Christmas morning, but Christmas Eve dinner was dependable, private, and blessedly relaxed. Adam, somehow, found himself looking forward to it.

He sat on one of the staircases - it really didn’t matter which one, as they all blent together, only distinguishable by where they could take him - with the decorations hanging around him and a book in his lap. For once, there wasn’t any work, and even the most work-centered version of himself was forced to concede and enjoy a few hours of pleasure reading. He had grabbed the first book he could find off of his shelf and set off. Apparently, his hand had gravitated towards Fahrenheit 451. Not exactly light enough to match the twinkling reds and golds he spotted in his periphery no matter how he turned, but a personal choice all the same.

“If you keep sitting on staircases, someone is going to walk into you,” came Gansey’s voice from behind him.

“It’s their fault for not watching their way,” said Adam. “I’m sitting with my back to them. How am I expected to know?”

“By not sitting on staircases,” Gansey repeated. The air rustled as Gansey lowered to sit on the step next to Adam. “Some nice, light reading?”

“Yes. Everything okay?”

“Grand. Mostly just avoiding Helen unpacking and my parents stressing over napkin rings.”

“Gansey Christmas sounds wonderful,” Adam said dryly. “I assume they’ll all be here tonight?”

“Of course. They’d never miss it.”

“Helen is well?”

“Fantastic, apparently. Primed to get engaged soon, she says, and the helicopter’s got a new paint job.”

Adam could almost forget how much the Ganseys looked like a new Kennedy-like dynasty, but their swarming every year always reminded him. Their Christmas photos, too - always at DC landmarks, bleached teeth and ghost-pale skin and all-American born and bred grins. And the occasional snap stories from Helen of her mid-piloting a flying vessel didn’t help.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, not surprised to find the words genuine.

He got to see the Gansey family anxiety for himself only a few hours later, donned in an ugly Christmas sweater Blue had insisted on. Mr. Gansey cast a discerning eye around the room while Mrs. Gansey smiled tightly at his side, dressed pristinely. Helen chatted idly with Blue, though Blue looked prepared to bolt at a moment's notice.

“Ho-ho-horseshit?” Maura questioned, snapping him away from his reverie and gazing around like a caged animal. Her eyes traced over the pattern on his shirt.

“Blue’s homemade gift,” he said by way of response, to which Maura only sighed heavily. Her sudden appearance reminded him he had a task to perform, the small handled bag digging into his palm suddenly given a purpose. He held the bag out to Maura with a small grimace, watching one of her eyebrows quirk. “I was told to give you this.”

Maura withdrew an identical sweater from the bag. “Sending you to do her dirty work, hm?”

“I suppose so.”

“Hm,” was all Maura replied, until she lifted her analytical gaze to him. “Thanks, Adam,” she said, and in one of the greatest surprises of the night, slid her arm over his shoulders and drew him into a quick hug. “Now sit down. We’ve gotta start wrangling dinner if we want this to end before midnight.”

Adam took his place next to Gansey at the smaller table, unfolding a napkin and laying it across his lap. The gals at the table slowly began to fill in as Gansey chatted about the recent tabloid conjectures.

“The youngest is back in the tabloids, you know, trying to get him on drug use again.”

“Oh, really?” Adam muttered, eyes scanning idly over the periphery of the room. His eyes snagged on the Christmas decorations, simpler than the majority of the White House decor. A few string lights here and there, hanging baubles, the occasional pile of fake snow. His finger tapped at the stem of his empty wine glass.

“Last time he disappeared for public for a while. Heaven knows if that’ll happen again.”

He felt an itch inside his deaf ear, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach. “Disappeared?”

“Yeah, just...gone, no public appearances…”

It was a vague memory, or perhaps a memory of a memory. Just a snatch of something that made the hairs in the back of his neck stand up. He tried to focus on Gansey’s words, but all at once they started sliding around, unclear and blending with the too-loud noises of dinner being served. A cacophony of clacks and laughs and voices. His head burned.

Gansey’s voice lowered. “Are you alright, Adam?”

He scooted his chair backward quickly, muttering something like “back in a minute” to Gansey before rushing away. He felt eyes on the back of his head, but he didn’t pause or slow until the door to his bedroom shut firmly behind him and he leaned against it, completely alone.

“Parrish?” Ronan’s voice said in his ear, low and urgent, and oh. Adam hadn’t even realized his phone was in his hand, much less that he’d managed to press Ronan’s contact or raise it to his ear. He did briefly remember the ringing, but then words were falling out of his mouth and he didn’t waste any more brainpower on how he reached that position.

“I don’t want to…to bother you,” Adam said, and only someone who had known him for a long time would know how much it took Adam to say those words despite the fact that it was a mantra in his head repeating infinitely. Blue, who had known him since the age of five, had heard him say it only a handful of times. Gansey had heard it perhaps a handful more, though that was mostly because Adam felt strangely indebted to Gansey no matter how much he tried to change it. Ronan should not have known, but Adam had a feeling he would anyway. “You hate phones and it’s Christmas Eve and-”

“Adam,” Ronan said abruptly, and the use of his first name stopped him short. “It’s two in the morning. I’m just with Matthew. Talk.”

“Hi, Adam,” came a cheerful voice, somehow sounding like an even better picture-perfect British monarchy member than Ronan or Declan. “Ronan’s told me everything about how he-”

Adam missed Ronan’s ensuing muttered comment, something that most likely resembled a threat, but soon the voice that Adam assumed to be Mathew let out a trailing laugh, the sound growing fainter as he likely moved away from the phone.

“And fuck you!” Ronan called, with his mouth moved away from the receiver, before his attention returned to Adam. “He’s gone now.”

“It’s okay,” Adam said. “I didn’t mind.”

“I know,” Ronan said simply. “But I thought it might be easier. Now go.”

“I-I just,” Adam fumbled with his words for a moment, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He felt, strangely, like he was back in Aglionby PE class trying to participate in a football scrimmage. He’d always come just short of catching the ball. He’d known what he was supposed to do, where his hands were supposed to go, the sequence of events following the initial contact, even the proper footwork. But whenever the ball reached him, he felt the disconcerting motion of closing his arms around nothing, always a second too early or too late, leather slipping from his arms like butter in a hot pan. “Couldn’t be at that dinner any longer.”

“Why?” Ronan asked, and it was a good question, a good question that Adam had avoided so many times over he barely knew how to respond. He almost deflected like he always did, but Ronan asked the question differently than everyone else. There was no expectation in the question, no real drive to know the answer other than making Adam feel better, no guarantee of hearing the full truth or any version of the truth at all. Why. Why respond now?

“I was little,” he said, and fuck why did he go down this road at all? “And everything was overwhelming when I was little, and everything is overwhelming now, but it’s even more overwhelming at Christmas.” Ronan didn’t say it again, but still, it traveled across an ocean to hover over Adam uncertainly. Why?

“I don’t remember a lot about it. I don’t know if that’s because of...how it was, or just because I was so small. Younger than three, I think.”

“I barely remember anything from then,” Ronan said, the closest thing to reassurance Adam had received from him.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “Yeah. I guess. But I remember...I remember the double-wide. The great American double-wide in the great American trailer park with the great American alcohol and the great, raging American father.”

Ronan’s breath shifted ever so slightly.

Adan screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t...my mother wasn’t there. But she was the one who put the Christmas lights up. I couldn’t stop staring at them. I can still remember...they made the tan wall look almost golden. Just where the lights touched it, of course.” His voice trailed off, realizing how tangential it sounded. Softly, he added “I don’t know why I remember those lights.”

“Our minds remember random things,” Ronan said, perhaps to bring Adam back to the story.

“Yeah,” Adam agreed, blinking quickly. “Yeah. He didn’t...he didn’t like that. Me looking at them, I mean. So he...he took them down.”

The silence pressed in at his ears, threatening to close in on him just like walls.

“I see,” Ronan said.

“And he…” Adam swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple scratch tightly against his neck. He pressed his free hand to his deaf ear. “I don’t remember a lot after that, either. But the bulbs were...hot. It was freezing inside, so they should have been, too, but they were lightbulbs, I guess, and so they were hot. At some point, I fell into a railing. It burst my left eardrum.” At that moment, he could feel that second in startling clarity - pinpricks and needles and blood vessels dancing on his skin, sharp, pointed, wild attacks, and the loudest noise he’s ever heard in his life, making him collapse to the ground and forget everything else. Pain, bright and white and flashing and throbbing in time with his heartbeat until he wanted to melt into the floor. Adam was the better part of two decades removed from it, and still, the thought of that moment made his stomach turn over and over.

Adam knew he didn’t imagine Ronan’s intake of breath then.

“And my mother got home, and when she saw we left and never came back.”

The walls pressed closer to him until Ronan said “Well, shit. Fuck. Jesus.”

Adam brought his hand to his mouth, pressing it until the pressure began to ease up in his gut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, muffled against his fingers.

“No, shit, Parrish. Don’t you dare apologize.” There was a quick exhale, something that sounded like leather sliding down a headboard. “That’s what you remember of Christmas?’

“Yeah. I don’t - I don’t remember a whole lot.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

Not even Blue and Gansey knew that story. They knew the vague details, of course, how his smiles turned tight around the White House decorations and he preferred to slip into his room early on holidays. And that Robert was the reason for his being deaf in one ear. He could just never get the entire story out around them.

Telling Ronan about it was easy, though, in a way that it shouldn’t have been. He was supposed to hate Ronan, even if it became more clear with every passing day that he was far from hatred.

“I guess I should. It’s not like I’ve done any of that in a long time.”

“You don’t have to.” A slight pause. “I can.”

Adam tried to keep the doubt out of his voice. “You can?”

For a brief moment, Adam thought Ronan might hang up on him. But then he said, “Can I tell you a secret, Parrish?”

After everything I just put on you, you could tell me a thousand secrets. You know I’ll keep every single one. I’m trusting you with a story that no one else knows, that no one else will ever know. I could do nothing less than keep your secret.

All he said was “Of course.”

“You know my Irish father? My Irish storytelling father? My Irish-Catholic father?”

“Right.”

“He passed down more to me than just his Irish stories.”

It took Adam’s brain a moment to catch up. “I...see.”

“All three of us...well, behind closed doors, that’s what we practice. Believe. Whatever shit you want.”

“Right. So no… C of E.”

“On the record, of course. Off the record...no. None at all.”

Adam hummed in response. He couldn’t think of what else to say.

“So...I will. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Of course.” A knock sounded on the door, sounding suspiciously like Gansey’s familiar tapping. He rose slowly, crossing to fall onto his bed. “I should probably let you go. Don’t want you to have too prolonged contact with any screens.”

“Disgusting,” Ronan said. A beat passed. “Are you a bit better?”

Adam shut his eyes, feeling the tension coiled in his chest ease up slightly. The line between the two of them materialized at his feet, on the backs of his lids, and he could nearly touch it with the toe of his shoes. “Yes,” he admitted. “Thank you.” And of all the words for Adam to say, they were the easiest and hardest to accomplish.

“Thank you,” Ronan said, and if Adam didn’t know any better he would think the words sounded harder to say for Ronan than Adam. But the line clicked and fell dead before Adam could say anything. He stared at the phone for a moment until the screen switched off from disuse, leaving him in the dark. Only then did he stand and cross the room to perch on the edge of his bed.

Gansey’s head poked through his doorway. He hesitated as though asking for permission, and Adam nodded.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything."

“It’s fine,” Adam hedged. “We were wrapping up.”

Gansey fell heavily into Adam’s desk chair just as he always did. “Everything alright?”

“Now it is, yeah.”

He seemed to be trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. “That wasn’t Noah, was it?”

“No, of course not.”

Gansey nodded once. “So it was Ronan.”

“What?” Adam sat up a little too quickly, blood rushing to his head. “Why would you say - how do you-?”

“You don’t exactly have a wide circle of friends. Guessing is easy.”

“I hate your knowledge of my loneliness.” He swallowed roughly. “And we’re not... friends.”

Gansey cocked one eyebrow. His thumb raised to run over his lower lip. “Really?” He challenged.

And, well. No. Not really. Adam thought of their strings of messages, the trade of information between them so easy and simple. He couldn’t pretend that they were enemies anymore, or that their general feelings weren’t positive.

“Really,” He said, launching himself up off of his bed. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants, he glanced back over to his friend. Gansey was studying him with a distantly memorable expression, as though trying to discern a difficult Latin translation but determined not to ask for help.

“Well,” Gansey said, blinking once, twice. He stood abruptly, noting Adam moving towards the door. “Let’s off, then.” “You’re not British, Gansey, don’t say that.”

“Mm, you’d know all about their phrases, wouldn’t you?”

“Do not.”

Before Adam reached the door, Gasney stopped him, saying his name so lowly Adam almost missed it. He turned and waited for Gansey to speak.

“Are you sure you can go back?” Adam mustered a smile. No, he thought, but Ronan’s voice echoed in his head. Don’t apologize. Maybe he could make it through after all, have a slightly better memory of Christmas. “Yeah, I am.” And he turned the doorknob to let them spill out into the hallway.

***

iMessage chat to HRH shitty bird boy

Resumed 29 December, 2019, 5:17 pm

Look. I’m just saying.

Ignoring the fact that bearer bonds haven’t been legally in use since 1982

That henchman says that they’re valued at $100,000 USD

(£75,700 for your British ass)

and then Alan Rickman says they earn 20%

When the interest rate on corporate bonds was 9% when Die Hard came out??

And also there’s never been a US bond worth more than $10,000??

stop letting sargent force you to watch die hard

for the love of god stop

it’s a MOVIE

It’s not Blue, actually.

It’s your best friend.

henry??? how??

Netflix party

He got my number (thanks for that)

And wouldn’t stop texting insisting we watch it

Or he (as threatened) will “release the bees??”

I’m not sure what he meant but here I am.

Accidentally desecrating Alan Rickman’s legacy.

Blue’s here too but it’s not her fault, at least.

that asshole

how dare i not be included in everything he does

“Why the hell is Ronan on the guest list?” Adam demanded, casting his eyes over their virtual list for what felt like the hundredth time. Planning for their New Year’s Eve fundraising event/PR dream/blowout party had been well underway since before Christmas, but crucial developments always occurred in the weeklong stretch between Christmas and New Year’s. Like the inclusion of the Prince of England on their exclusive invitation list of all the most famous and powerful twenty-somethings from around the planet.

Blue, seated sideways in an armchair and eating a container of strawberry yogurt at a glacial pace, said “I thought you added him?”

Adam wouldn’t put it past her to add him and feign innocence - she had some hidden agenda with him and Ronan, anyway, one he wasn’t quite sure of - but her ignorance seemed genuine. At once, they both turned to Gansey. He kept his face blank.

“Good question, Adam,” he said, refusing to back down under their stares. “But the real question is why didn’t you invite him?”

Adam, too, did his best to look passive. “Why would I?”

“He’s your only friend that’s not currently in this room?”

“Plus he’s great for the press,” Blue chimed in.

Adam just looked between them, and Gansey sighed.

“Look, Adam, it’s - it’s great that you actually get along with him. Like him.”

“Do not,” Adam retorted automatically. His phone buzzed, and he felt his cheeks darken a little with the knowledge that it was probably Ronan. Gansey and Blue were probably staring at each other and having one of their silent conversations, but he didn’t trust himself to look at them without giving anything away. Not that there was anything to give away. “You invited Cheng too, right? Ronan won’t come if he doesn’t.” “Thought you didn’t care?” Blue asked, and he shrugged.

“They’ve both RSVP’d yes, Adam, so I’m sure your best friend will be there.”

“Lovely,” Adam muttered, ushering them along the rest of their planning.

Just before eight PM on the thirty-first of December, Adam curled into his desk chair with a textbook perched on his bent knees. Blue, already dressed and made up while laying spread-eagle on his bed, fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She’d managed to convince PR that a self-designed outfit would make a splash, and Adam had to agree with her - she really did have a knack for design and upcycling.

Technically, they should have been heading down to play host to all types of young, influential people, buttering them up for cash and future favors. But much as the media loved their wild parties, none of the White House Trio were particularly fond of them. They preferred a quieter scene, but quiet didn’t raise money and make headlines.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t hole up and enjoy the peace and quiet before then.

Gansey, who by far had the greatest social battery, was therefore left to field early attendants and the press on the lawn. He’d come and drag them out of Adam’s room soon enough, of course, but before that time came there was relative peace.

“I guess we’ll get one more of these,” Blue said. “At least.”

Adam lifted his eyes from the book and looked at her. “Yes,” he said softly. “I think I’ll miss them?”

She laughed, a deep laugh that eased a bit of the pre-party anxiety in his chest. “I won’t. I hate this party.”

“But don’t you like flirting with all the daughters of Oscar-winning actresses?”

Blue hummed. “That is fun. They’re never ready for it.”

“They never are.”

“I’ll be doing less of that this year, though.”

“And hopefully forever?” Adam teased. The sudden air of wistfulness descending around Blue gave him a hint of pause. She took a moment to respond.

”Maybe,” she muttered. “Shut up.”

Adam let it go for then, sensing genuine distress in Blue’s stiffened shoulders.

“They wouldn’t be so bad if everyone didn’t get so blacked out.”

“Well, we have liability waivers now. And I think you mean it would be worse.”

Adam sighed. “I guess no one would show up without the promise of alcohol.”

“Exactly.”

Contrary to how Blue and Gansey made him live, Adam really didn’t enjoy drinking that much. When he did, he preferred to do so quietly - sitting in the music room with the rest of the trio, celebrating a good grade with his family, breaking out something to make a night-in a little more exciting. Events like the Royal Wedding were a one-off, where he needed distraction and alcohol presented itself.

He didn’t want to think about the need for distraction just then, with Ronan and Henry Cheng most likely en route to the White House.

A few quick, precise knocks came at the door. Gansey. He popped his head in.

“You two need to show up soon or it’s going to look suspicious,” he greeted. Blue made a tiny noise of discontent and made to turn her face into Adam’s pillow, but must have remembered her makeup and decided otherwise.

Adam heaved a sigh and stood, smoothing one hand over his hair. He’d straightened and smoothed it down for the event, knowing the cameras preferred him in all of his polished glory. He glanced between Blue and Gansey, but their gazes didn’t flicker from each other. Something about the hunger in their eyes made Adam ache, a tight knot settled in his chest. Gansey moved into the room and Adam out of it. He cast a glance through the doorway over his shoulder, trying to gauge if he should wait for them. By the low, urgent whispers carrying between them and Gansey’s hands rested on Blue’s elbows as they stood nearly flush, his presence was no longer necessary.

Adam trailed down the hallowed halls until he reached the mingling mass of people in the East Room. He turned on his smile, trying his best to become invisible. It didn’t work. At every turn, another person grabbed his shoulder to catch up, another drink pressed into his hand, another question hurled his way. At some point, he started to feel a bit numb in the fingers, tiredness and giddiness from the schmoozing seeping into his bones.

Blue appeared at his side. Her smile had dampened somewhat, but he could tell she was enjoying herself from the set of her brows. Something, however, was off at just that moment. She inclined her head behind her, and that was all the explanation Adam needed.

Ronan often had that upsetting effect on people.

Adam took a moment to observe the scene. Ronan and Henry Cheng stood several feet away, engaged in conversation with Gansey, who walked backwards tidily through the crowd as though herding them towards Adam. Ronan’s face remained passive, clad in his black-leather best. Adam’s skin felt hot and itchy under his shirt, and he looked instead to Cheng. In his Madonna t-shirt, Cheng drew attention to himself in waves. Between his eccentric origin story and absently friendly expression, not to mention the excited manner in which he partook in whatever Gansey was saying, Cheng would surely be the hot commodity of the party.

“Making friends?” Adam asked Blue, pulling a face at the same time she did.

“He’s your best friend,” she replied just as Gansey reached them. Blue reached out a hand to stop him from colliding with them, stretching her arm so that it was almost straight, and he caught her hand easily with a squeeze.

From what Adam could tell, their conversation centered around some vague school memory from Eton, but it dissolved as soon as Blue and Adam broke their circle. The brief silence was broken quickly by Henry Cheng, who announced, “Well, if it isn’t the man with the worst opinions about Die Hard.”

Against his will, Adam felt the corners of his lips twitch. “And the man who cried over Alan Rickman dying in Die Hard.”

Henry shrugged. “I wear my emotions proudly.”

“We fucking know,” Ronan said, breaking his silence. Adam hated how nicely the tight leather jacket accented his pale skin and high cheekbones, looking almost regal in his rebellion. “You monologued about the unbridled joy in your heart over the Madonna song playing when we first arrived.”

Henry grinned. “I will not apologize for being stable in my masculinity, Ronan, unlike all you repressed British types.”

“I need a drink,” Ronan declared loudly, plucking one from the closest tray and downing it in one graceful motion as one might serve a tennis ball. Henry did not appear phased by the sudden dramatics.

“Now, let’s see if I get everyone.” He turned his head to Gansey, moving around the circle. “We��ve got King Ganseyman, of course. Adam Parrish, the least valid person I can think of for purely petty reasons. And of course our dear Periwinkle.”

Adam cocked a brow and subtly shifted his eyes to look at Blue. She looked fit to claw out someone’s eye even though her own eye scars were obscured in makeup; her hand had tightened significantly around Gansey’s, and he gave no indication of pain from the movement beyond the barest twitch of his mouth.

“Clever,” she said at last, sparing him a tight, sarcastic smile. “I’ve also read the labels on nail polish to pick up a few new words. It’s nice to know you can read.”

“Yes, well, you have to start your journey to literacy somewhere,” Henry said grandly. “I appreciate your support, of course.”

Adam caught a flicker of amusement pass of Blue’s face. He had a sinking suspicion that maybe Blue wasn’t as averse to Cheng as she put on a show of.

“Are you literate enough to read off a drink order?” she said.

Henry grinned, white teeth lining in rows in his mouth. “I suppose I can string a few words together.”

Without letting go of Gansey, Blue surged forward, looping her other arm in Henry’s. The three of them trailed off towards the drinks, Blue and Henry moving determinedly and Gansey, bemused and grinning at their sudden acquaintanceship, lagging a step or so behind. Adam gazed after them for a moment, but Ronan took a step closer to be heard over the music and he turned his head to look at him.

“She’s gonna have them wrapped up all night.”

Adam raised a brow. “You can read her that well?”

Ronan gave his head the tiniest, nearly imperceptible shake. “No. I know Cheng and Gansey.”

The heat of the room was starting to cling to Adam’s skin; he rolled one shoulder uncomfortably. “Of course. Eton gang’s reunited.”

“For better or worse,” Ronan agreed lowly.

Adam meant to ask what he meant by that, but he never received the chance. A hand tapped Ronan firmly on the shoulder, and Adam watched as he turned automatically. His face broke into an uncharacteristic grin at the sight of the person behind him. Adam felt his forehead crease as the figure wrapped their arms around Ronan’s shoulders and he hugged them back almost as enthusiastically. For a moment, the only sight was the overlapping of pale and dark skin, the stranger’s feather-pink jacket contrasting with the black leather Ronan wore.

Then the two separated, and between the black bralette, exuberant eyeshadow, and tight-coiled hair shining under the strobe lighting, Adam recognized Hennessy - up-and-coming London artist, an occasional nuisance. and precisely the type of person that thrived at these parties.

“You bastard,” she said to Ronan. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“Henry was live-tweeting the whole flight.”

She scoffed lightly, rubbing at an invisible spot of dirt on Ronan’s cheek. “I've had him muted since uni.”

“Don’t let him hear that you haven’t been keeping up on his page.”

“Aww, it’s sweet you worry for me, little fox, but I can take that pissant any day of the week.”

Ronan pulled back slightly. “Of course you could, but Henry goes more for psychological violence.”

“Yes, well, I can get him in that too.” Neither acknowledged Adam standing nearby. Hennessy shook her head, curls bouncing with the movement and picking up all kinds of strobe lighting. “Where is he, that shadow of yours?”

“Cheng could never be anyone’s shadow. He’s too out there.”

“And you’re the one he chooses not to abandon, hm? How sweet.” When she smiled, she looked very much like a painting, striking and set and venomous enough to burn at the slightest brush. Ronan appeared impervious.

“He’s making friends.”

“Hm. How boring.”

Ronan’s voice lowered, but Adam thought he could hear him say “Jordan’s not here?”

Hennessy’s lips, the same vibrant shade as her lids, pulled a little tighter. “Nah,” she replied, casual enough. “Working on some deadlines, poor thing.” Her eyes flitted away from Ronan’s face for the first time, landing squarely on Adam instead. Her grin widened. “Well, there’s our treasured host. Late to your own party?”

“I have learned a few things from you over the years, Hennessy,” Adam replied, slipping a hand into his pocket in an attempt to appear more casual than he felt.

“Fuck, I guess you have,” she admitted. Compared to Ronan’s accent, her voice sounded slipperier and rounder, sliding through the air until it reached his ears. She lifted a hand to land one last pat to Ronan’s cheek before gliding on to land a similar one to Adam. She paused briefly in front of him, lowering her hand.

“You look happy,” she noted. Waggling her fingers in a wave, she turned back so both Adam and Ronan could see her. “I need a drink to get through all these boring political types. Ta, darlings,” she said, before disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as she had arrived.

Adam exchanged a look with Ronan. “So you know Hennessy?”

“I’d hope so, yeah,” Ronan said, but he didn’t elaborate. “You?”

“We've met a few times.”

“Pity,” Ronan said, standing like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands.

Adam rolled a few words around on his tongue - questions, mostly, infused with the sudden jealousy he felt simmering low in his gut - but instead all he said, so out of character, was “Do you want a drink?”

His shoulders seemed to soften slightly. “Can’t let Sargent have all the good ideas, I guess.”

“I’ll tell her you thought it was a good idea.”

“Fuck off.”

Ronan appeared a little more at ease with a drink in hand, and eventually, Adam lost him to the crowd. He stood stranded for the briefest of moments before Henry Cheng appeared, for the second time that night, at his side.

“Adam Parrish,” he said, handing off a drink that looked clear and deadly. It took his fingers a moment to remember to grab it rather than letting it splash to the ground.

“Cheng,” Adam said, letting the déja vû wash over himself. “Thought we already had our introductions.”

“Of course,” Henry replied, tone too even and pleasant for the chaos around them. “Just wanted a chat with the movie critic, is all.”

Adam cast a skeptical eye around the room. “You’re sure this is the best place?”

“No time like the present, my friend.” Henry threw an arm around his shoulders, guiding Adam towards the dance floor and obscuring his own voice further. “How about you down that there drink and enjoy yourself? You look positively coiled and ready to strike.”

“I’d really rather not. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, if you’re so connected to sobriety, so be it,” Henry said, stealing the drink back. He nodded over Adam’s shoulder as he lowered his head back down from the drink, and when Adam glanced he saw a flash of Ronan’s leather among the crowd. “Our Ronan is looking fit, no? I’m proud of him for getting out of the house.”

“Some house,” Adam muttered, not expecting Henry to hear. All the same, his companion let out a startled laugh.

“Could say the same to you. But yes,” he said, leaning closer, “between you and me, the palace is always quite disarming.” Straightening and throwing a wave over his shoulder, Henry added, “Perhaps you have more reason to get used to it than I do, however.”

“More reason?”

Henry smiled, then, and somehow it appeared as menacing as Hennessy’s had earlier. Maybe he’d learned from her. “Friends of the royals make quite frequent trips, I’m afraid.”

“What, you’re not approved enough?”

“‘Fraid not. Heir to a fortune is not the same as First Son, Parrish, and I believe you’ve a wonderful slip of parchment ensuring just how approved you are.”

“I can’t find it in myself to be surprised you know.”

“Well, imagine being me if I didn’t!” Henry exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few popular influencers as he splashed a drink in their direction with his aggressive gesturing. “I was only on the receiving end of the HRH’s rants for three bloody years before you wrestled each other in frosting at the greatest wedding of the decade-”

“We didn’t wrestle-”

“And then you turn up a week later, acting all buddy-buddy for every camera you find - well, it would look suspicious had I not known!”

“Mhm,” Adam drawled, cutting his eyes back to Henry. “I bet Ronan can’t keep a secret from you.”

Henry grinned again, baring his teeth. “You’ve read him so well, McClane.” He sighed theatrically barely a moment later. “And debunked my argument succinctly.”

“That’s the price to pay for knowing all of Ronan’s thoughts, I suppose, Gruber.”

“Among many others. I’d expect his Niamh to know that well enough, though.”

Adam felt himself freeze as Henry’s hand came in contact with his shoulder, a friendly pat. His Niamh. As if that meant anything, as if those words fit together in any logical pattern. His Niamh, and his mother’s voice - almost golden.

“Or you will soon enough, mate,” Henry said. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And Henry Cheng disappeared into the crowd, popping up laughing with Blue a few feet away.

Adam surrendered gaining any grip on this night right then.

At some point, Hennessy found him, pressing a drink into his palm - what was with all his friends and acquaintances plying him with alcohol? - and said, “Well, I’d think you were avoiding me as you have at the last two of these parties.”

“Never avoiding,” Adam defended, mustering a smile as he lifted the drink to his lips without thinking. “Just generally indisposed at events.”

“You’re making some good choices, then.”

“What’s done must be done.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Rather defeatist of you, Golden Boy. Don’t remember that from your time on the campaign trail.”

Adam grinned. “I’m a fully realized creation. I have the capacity to change.” “There he is, bringing out the philosophy at parties.” She nodded to something that might have been Ronan if Adam focused his eyes and squinted enough. “Don’t remember him, either.”

“Have I mentioned you look fantastic?”

“I know, darling, and I note your deflection.”

“My point stands.”

“And it’s valued.” She slid an arm over his shoulders, uncomfortably warm, to lean closer to his ear. “But we’re gonna have a conversation when you’re not overwhelmed at a party you don’t want to throw. I’m serious about the ignoring.”

“I know you are.”

“Mhm. And if I were you, I’d go check on your boy. But I’m not you, so I’m going to enjoy myself.”

As quickly as she’d appeared, she slid off into the crowd, joining the numbers of people Adam had completely lost to the mob. Everyone seemed able to navigate it but him.

As the clock neared midnight and another drink disappeared from Adam’s hand, leaving his blood buzzing pleasantly through his veins, he slipped out one of the ornate double doors. He breathed in fresh air like a man coming across water in the desert, the haze around his mind clearing with every breath. He ambled to a free bench, his legs still stiff and straight from overuse. The stone bit into his long fingers as he curled his hand around the bench seat, but he welcomed the feeling because it was so far from the thriving mass of bodies indoors.

At some point, he opened his eyes again. His eyes had briefly registered another figure outdoors by the statue when he first exited. Only once his eyes were open and scanning did he recognize the figure, a silhouette of black leather cut harshly from the ethereal white exterior of the Residence.

“Everything okay?” He called to Ronan.

“Yeah,” Ronan replied without turning to face him. “Just...getting some air.”

It was easier to associate this Ronan with the one he heard on the phone - so far from that royal persona projected everywhere, a voice in a face with no expectations on it. Ronan could have been anyone, his accent lax and his posture eerily straight in a contrast that made Adam feel a bit winded.

“It’s loud in there,” he admitted.

Ronan didn’t respond, but Adam’s statement wasn’t one that required response.

“I thought this would be more your scene,” Adam finally said, challenge creeping into his voice. He wasn’t sure if it was a genuine challenge or if he was just falling back on old habits instead of saying something he might regret.

“And I didn’t think it would be yours.”

“Fair enough, since it’s not.”

Ronan threw him a glance over one shoulder at that. “Makes perfect sense to throw this function, then.”

“Well, the media doesn’t exactly eat up overpriced textbooks and econ calculations, so I do what I can.”

“Mm,” Ronan hummed in something that sounded like agreement. “They do love the sex, drugs, and rock and roll, even in places it’s not happening.”

Adam stood, placing his hands on his knees like he had bad joints. “Unless if you actually went to 239 parties last year, I’d guess you know all about that exaggeration.”

“Do you stalk my tabloids, Parrish? The fuck?”

“No, Gansey does. With everybody. He just reads all his findings to me.”

“Terrifying,” Ronan muttered. “If I die of mysterious circumstances, you’ll both be on the shortlist of suspects.” “What?” Adam challenged. “You’ll keep it in the breast pocket of your blazer?”

“Sure,” Ronan replied. “I have to keep it folded up close to my heart, of course. Keep your lovers close but enemies closer.”

Ronan tilted his head in the direction of the statue, silently beckoning Adam to stand by him. It felt a bit like a confession, like his permission implied passing some silent test.

Briefly, in his buzzing brain, he wondered what side of that spectrum he fell on.

“Did you get sick of watching Blue and Gansey?”

Adam shrugged, pulling to a stop just next to Ronan. He kicked absently at the ground with his toe. “A bit.”

“That has to have been a weird development to get used to.”

“A bit,” Adam repeated.

“Still, it hasn’t been too long.”

“I think they’ve been a thing for longer,” Adam admitted.

Ronan turned his head, and suddenly Adam felt the icy cool of his eyes trained on Adam’s face. “Why?”

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems obvious, looking back. They’ve clearly been together for a while. August, at least.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the December-January chill suddenly settling over him. “I think they were...protecting me.”

Ronan snorted, the gesture not a bit princely. “Protecting you?”

Adam fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.

“I’m damaged goods, Highness,” he said at length. “I’m fragile.”

Even though Adam didn’t turn to him, he felt Ronan’s eyes probe deeper as though imploring Adam to look back to him. “That’s a fucking lie,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Adam snorted, but Ronan was not deterred.

“You’re not fragile,” he repeated. “If you’re fragile, the world is being held up by - by dental floss and craft glue. No, a weak person couldn’t do what you do. Bullshit for the cameras at least once a week, keep up your grades, work on policy with Czerny, keep up your ratings so that they never dip - that’s too much for someone who is fragile.”

“Oh, then you must be superhuman, with all the bullshitting you do.”

“Of course I am, Parrish,” Ronan said, turning his eyes up and away from Adam.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, elbows rested on the cold metal fence guarding the statue. The night sky hung above them, pale in all of the light pollution of the city, but if Adam strained he could see the faint points carving themselves into the sky and drawing themselves into pictures and promises. Ronan’s heat radiated next to him, leather almost snagging on cotton. The fact that this was their first time seeing each other in person since the hospital photo-op did not escape Adam’s notice, but neither did the easy way in which they managed to coexist despite the time and distance removing them from that point.

When the moment grew too heavy, he said, “Did you look at my Wikipedia page?”

“No.”

Adam arched an eyebrow.

“...Matthew may have done some light Googling.”

Adam laughed. It wasn’t his carefree camera laugh, the ones that kept up his ratings, but it was a laugh nonetheless, one that dispersed through the air as though worried it could be stolen away at any moment. Ronan’s face shuttered abruptly. His expression became inscrutable, and Adam didn’t realize he’d looked happy until he no longer did.

All at once, Adam remembered the line separating them, and he felt certain they were touching it with their feet almost overlapping, face to face and chest to chest.

“You didn’t have to come,” Adam said softly, his normal voice suddenly feeling far too loud for the little bubble forming around them, devoid of anyone else. “Not if you didn’t want to.”

Ronan didn’t speak for a moment, by choice or to gather his words, Adam didn’t know. “I did.”

Adam just shook his head, choosing to stand in comfortable silence. A star winked in the sky.

“Non est ad astra mollis e terris via,” Ronan whispered, his lips barely movin g. There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

“Itaque imus ad astra, per aspera,” Adam replied, barely thinking about it. So we go through hardships to the stars.

Ronan visibly started at his use of Latin. Adam smirked as if you say you’re not the only one with a posh education.

“Shooting for the stars, Highness?”

Rona turned his eyes back to the sole bright star. “I might as well be.”

“I’d doubt whatever it is that’s bothering you is as hopeless as that.”

Adam couldn’t take his eyes off of Ronan, noting the way his lips thinned. “Oh, but it is. In my position. In my life.”

“Non ergo qui in vobis sunt terminum tibi.”

Ronan turned his head toward Adam again, and Adam felt a spark of fear over what he might do if he turned his head to meet Ronan’s eyes, blue as a never-ending lake stretching on and on until he drowned against the sand.

He turned his head anyway. The stars suspended above them, the leaves ceasing to rustle and shuffle, the party inside fading away until everyone disappeared into nothingness. Ronan lifted one hand from the railing and slid it along Adam’s cheek, his skin heating and jolting at the touch like Ronan himself was made of electricity and stardust, like the galaxies that Adam had once been were meeting their long lost particles in Ronan’s hand. In Ronan’s eyes, he could have sworn he heard words turning over and over.

Adam heard him whisper, then, the words that must have been bouncing in his head. “Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death,” he muttered, the tail-end of something Adam couldn’t quite place. He parted his lips to speak just before Ronan kissed him.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, he didn’t worry that he was kissing someone - kissing Ronan . For once in his life, he forgot about everything else. He didn’t worry about anyone inside or what anyone might think. That would come later.

Ronan’s lips pressed to his, and he tried to string a coherent thought together but was instead met with abstract, overjoyed ideas floating aimlessly in his brain instead.

The press of Ronan against him was hard, sharp lines and corners poking into his chest and his hips and his legs, but his lips were soft and Adam tasted whiskey and powdered sugar on Ronan’s tongue and Ronan’s teeth flashed against his lip and he thought he might die, that the feeling may kill him if he did that again.

He didn’t have a chance to test that hypothesis, because Ronan pulled back and stepped away so quickly Adam almost fell forward onto his face. And then he hurried away, leaving Adam standing like an idiot outside of the White House ballroom at a party he was supposed to be hosting after just kissing a male member of the monarchy.

His only thought was, absently, if they’d kissed at midnight.

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yangsharperavery · 5 years ago

Text

title: the part of you that’s her and the part of you that’s you

pairing: michael x maria

word count: 1884 words

summary: post 2x05. maria ponders the expansive, unfamiliar space of attempting to trust michael guerin again.

She wasn’t really sure how they had ended up back here.

In a tangled mess of limbs and sheets and cyclical need.

She had been the kind of furious and wounded that rivaled the sheer power of an avalanche or a swarm of agitated insects.

The kind of hurt that lingers and can’t necessarily be undone or explained away.

The kind of confusion that hits you like a ton of bricks even when you’ve been living long enough to know that life is full of surprises.

And yet you’re still completely blindsided by a truth that’s knocked the wind right out of your chest.

But what was she supposed to do, really?

Where was she supposed to put all of that emotion?

Because that pain and anger and overwhelmingly loud current you feel when a steadily building trust seeps out of your pores, doesn’t actually last forever.

Even if she wanted it to, even if she could keep it close and use it as some type of sacred armor. Even if that would help keep him at an arm’s length indefinitely.

Would she even want that? Like actually want him out of her life?

The thing about all those initial feelings of betrayal and confusion and bewilderment is that once they subside, everything else is still there… simmering languidly against the impetus of it all.

The comfort, the familiarity, the sweetness, the genuine boundless care.

The ease.

It was so easy for them to navigate the spaces around one another and with one another.

None of it ever felt like work.

Even in the bickering or the bantering. It fit all the sorted groves and divets; filled up each other’s lack.

That doesn’t just disappear.

So she’s not surprised that they’ve ended up like this, once again. Both barely clothed, sharing a too-small bed, beneath too thin sheets in his airstream.

Him reading from some file with her bare feet against his bare stomach, his legs sprawled out in the opposite direction. Her across from him quietly observing his stillness and concentration in the first bits of consciousness after having just awoken.

Her foot just barely twitches as her muscles further wake; he mindlessly grasps it with his free hand but doesn’t look up from whatever he’s reading.

So she keeps silently pondering the depth of whatever this is and how after weeks of successfully not talking to him, they’d ended up right back where they’d been prior- months ago when they were fully playing house but saying they weren’t.

Back then when she was in an elevated, near constant state of fear and worry over her mother.

When she was imperceptibly terrified and uneasy for herself.

That protruding memory causes her to realize that she’d been less and less worried or fearful for herself when he was around.

She wondered when exactly that had started?

And why it felt like such an anchored feeling; even in the midst of shattered trust.

Had she missed it against the onslaught of everything else she was dealing with on a daily basis?

How had this crept up on her so severely?

How had he?

And why, despite all crises and disasters and reveals, had she somehow allowed him to stay?

Or at the very least return.

Sometimes attempting to bargain with your heart is a wildly futile task.

As is trying to pinpoint when he had turned into this sublime retreat, even given all these other extenuating circumstances.

The first time she had seen him again after successfully shutting him out was the day she went to Max’s to see Liz and Rosa.

After sitting outside with them, Michael had emerged from inside the house and stopped immediately in his tracks when he saw her.

They locked eyes for a bit longer than a moment before she looked back at Liz, who gave her a knowing look that only someone who has been exceedingly close to you in your formative years could effectively give.

But they hadn’t spoken.

It wasn’t the time or the place and for some reason, just them being in the same general space served a very clarifying and real purpose.

She had gone in to sit with Max for a while and say a brief prayer at his bedside.

She whispered a few heartfelt, encouraging words to Liz and after hugging her and Rosa goodbye she thought maybe she’d have to say something to Michael.

But she didn’t know what. She hadn’t properly located the words for it just yet.

Still so gutted by the thought of it all.

And she could see how much he was hurting.

Her hurt, his hurt. Such tumult to contend with.

So all she could muster was a reassuring gaze and a gentle squeeze of his arm as she walked past him.

She felt him lightly sway into her fleeting frame.

She saw him in her rearview mirror on the porch watching her drive away.

He had shown up at the Pony a few days later. He hadn’t approached her or attempted to talk.

Just drank and watched her work, he tried to be less than obvious about it yet she felt his eyes on her.

He half thought she’d throw him out. She didn’t.

He carried some things to her truck for her a few nights later without her even having to ask.

She thanked him and didn’t realize those were the first words she’d uttered to him in quite some time.

And still, there wasn’t that necessary addressing of what had taken place between them.

The enormous breach of trust that she was still trying to wrap her mind around.

It was one thing to know that people are entitled to their secrets, it’s another to feel like a secret directly impacted you and even potentially put you or your mother in danger and those who cared about you still kept it.

The bigger thing she was trying to contend with was that, while so many people were in the know about this big secret, at least Liz and Alex were still who they’d always been.

And ultimately maybe it really wasn’t their secret to tell: not about Michael and Isobel and Max anyway.

Liz and Alex hadn’t actually changed after all.

She still knew them. They were still quite literally... people.

Michael being an alien felt so inconceivable that she wondered if she had dreamt up how he felt and tasted and smelled.

All very human.

And yet, this information of him being the furthest thing from that seemed quite plausible.

Him being from another dimension and planet made complete sense because there was this otherworldly quality. Something she had been unconsciously trying to internally reconcile.

Something about him.

And no, it wasn’t immediately obvious because she’d known him for a long time. It was slight and meager and then it grew quietly until she had suddenly realized how responsive she was to every part of him.

And it had shocked her.

And while she kept trying to convince herself of its lack of meaning, maybe she always saw this thing about him she just couldn’t properly put her finger on.

Underneath all the brooding and anger and veneer.

Something so malleable and ethereal and constant.

She notices his expression changes as he continues to read.

“You okay?”

That expression instantly evaporates and turns relaxed as soon as he sees her lying there looking at him.

“I am.”

She wanted to both press him and leave it alone in equal measure.

She wanted to give him the space to tell her things of his own volition but also wrestled with potentially not knowing how to convey support.

How different were all the facets of the internal inner workings of the emotional and mental alien world? And could they really be that different if he’d successfully been an alien living on this human planet all this time?

Largely undetected or found out.

He sees her looking discreetly at the file.

“It’s information about my mother,” he says softly.

“You mentioned her very briefly before when mine was missing. Was she...”

“An alien?”

Maria nods.

“Yeah, it’s a fucked up sorted story. And yet here I am, trying to figure out more of it.”

He closes and drops the file.

“Of course you are, how could you not? She’s part of you.”

Maria leans up and reaches her hand out to grasp his arm.

“Both the part of you that’s her and the part of you that’s you would want to know, I feel the same way,” she reassures.

His eyes get momentarily sad before he picks up her hand and brushes his lips against it. He then smooths both of his hands over her feet still in his lap.

“What happened here?” Michael gently inquires.

He points to her little pinkie toe, only half-covered with white nail polish, looking like the odd man out amongst her otherwise perfect pedicure.

“I wasn’t paying attention and stubbed it so hard, it took most of the polish off.”

“Ow.”

“I’ve been meaning to fix it, there’s even polish in my purse, just haven’t gotten around to it.”

“You want me to do it?”

Maria smiles.

“You’re gonna paint my pinkie toe for me, Guerin?”

“I’ll paint them all for you if you want, Deluca.”

“I don’t have any remover,” she responds after contemplating his offer.

“I do.”

Maria pauses for a moment before replying.

“Right. You had a few empty bottles in your truck that I noticed on our way back to Texas, I figured it was a car thing.”

“It does also work on scuffs on cars so you aren’t wrong,” Michael chuckles.

“So that’s another alien thing, huh?”

“Mhm, it’s like what you’d equate 10 hours of sleep and a green juice to. Replenishes our output, sometimes our powers weaken or really tire us.”

Maria nods.

Moments later, she’s watching him enact the same level of meticulous, unrivaled concentration as he was earlier as he gently paints each one of her toenails.

She’s taken by how small yet mighty not only the gesture is, but the care he takes in performing it.

There’s a level of unbridled softness that exists within Michael Guerin that so many just didn’t have access to.

At that moment she felt a distinct honor to witness it and to be on the receiving end of it.

So much so that she felt emotion crowd her throat.

“Did your necklace break again?” Michael asked, pulling her out of her internal rollercoaster.

“What?”

“Yeah, the one I fixed.”

“Oh no, I actually gave it to my mom.”

“Ah,” Michael responded, leaning further over her newly painted toes and gently blowing.

Maria’s lips inadvertently parted at this move.

“I had just noticed you weren’t wearing it recently,” he admitted, still concentrating on drying her toes with the air from his mouth.

“You’re quite observant.”

“You’re the easiest thing in the world to observe.”

She smiles.

“All done,” he remarks proudly as he inspects his work.

“Hey,” Maria says gently. He looks up at her for the first time in several moments.

She leans forward over both of their laps and kisses him.

“Thanks for the pretty toes,” she says.

“Thank your mom for the pretty toes but you’re welcome for the polish,” Michael replied, kissing her.

also on ao3

#miluca #michael x maria #michael guerin #maria deluca #roswell new mexico #fanfiction

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kendrixtermina · 5 years ago

Text

Further Unique engage quotes compiled by the heroic souls at one of the wikis

For those of us too busy actually trying to win to try out all matchups that might result in dialogue.

The friend pairs

For example here’s what happens if you make Caspar and Linny fight:

Caspar: Looks like we ended up on opposing sides, Linhardt! Linhardt: Certainly seems that way. I could almost weep over how things turned out. Do you realize, Caspar, that this is the first time we've ever fought? Caspar: Yeah, I think you're right. The first and probably the last!

Not one fight ever? What a pure friendship. Apparently most the preexiting friend groups that you can split up through recruitment get unique dialogues.

Ignatz and Rafael:

Raphael: Outta my way, Ignatz! I don't wanna have to fight you! Ignatz: Stop deluding yourself. You joined the Empire. Didn't you consider the consequences? I don't want to fight you either, Raphael! But this is war. Raphael: Ignatz...

Marianne and Hilda:

Marianne: I-I'm so sorry, Hilda. I... Hilda: It's OK, Marianne. These things happen in war

Anette and Mercie:

Annette: Mercie... Mercedes: Now, now, Annie. There's no need for that. This is a battlefield, after all. Annette: I'm so sorry... You know that, don't you? And also know that you don't have to forgive me... Mercedes: I was going to say the same thing. I'm so sorry if I cause you any pain.” — Mercedes as an enemy when fighting Annette in Crimson Flower Chapter 17, or as an ally when fighting Annette in Crimson Flower Chapter 18.

Single Tear Emoji.

Always make sure to recruit them in pairs, I suppose.

Edelgard vs. TSWITD

Also finally a sourced transcript of the ‘Edelgard almost blows her cover to get Byleth revenge for Jeralt‘ exchanges.

Death Knight: What are you trying to do here? Edelgard: You're the one who should be answering that question. Stay out of my way! Edelgard: Tomas! No... Solon. I will stop you. Solon: What?! If you insist on turning your blade against me, then expect no mercy.” — Edelgard, fighting Solon in Chapter 8. “Kronya: Huh? What are you- Are you here to kill me? Edelgard: I am. Prepare yourself for death while you still can.” — Edelgard fighting Kronya in Chapter 10. “Solon: So, this is how it is... I cannot let you live! Edelgard: You stole the words from my mouth. You lost the moment you failed to kill the professor.

One of the salient details here is that judging by the exchange with the death knight she most certainly didn’t know or have control over what they were doing/planning which is what I’ve been saying since day 1 but it’s nice to see that im not just imagining it

This is also interesting from an ‘identity porn’ sorta vantage point, because on the one hand she’s acting (about not knowing these people), but on the other she’s very much not (about being repulsed by them and wanting to kill them)

There was definitely a conscious decision on her side to dispose of Solon and Kronya not even just for noble reasons but purely pragmatic ones: it was apparent that she couldn’t control them, that they would just go on to murder and butcher all around, besides, Kronya was ridiculously bad at being undercover and had already compromised their stealth, it’s a recurring theme that the Agarthans don’t take surface humans very seriously.

For all that personal sympathy for Byleth certainly played a role here and that she took a risk for their sake, Edelgard was also definitely looking to get rid of an inconvenience/ mighty enemy who had outlived their usefulness, and to use Byleth and the class to accomplish that aim but still maintain plausible deniability, she could tell Thales that she had no choice but to fight Solon and Kronya since the rest of her class was there to witness.

Re: Solon, I also recently read this interesting essay on essay pointing out that just from what we see of their conversations among themselves TWSITD didn’t grasp Byleth’s identity until halfway through (for one thing Arundel thought Rhea had simply hidden the crest stone somewhere else for the same reasns that you don’t keep the keys to a safe on top of them) and that once they did they would not have wanted for Byleth and Edelgard to cooperate.

They wanna kill Byleth due to their connection to Sothis just like the remaining Nabateans (whereas to Edelgard Byleth’s power is as good as anyone elses as long as they’re on her side, and she wholly intends to put TWSITD on its receiving end), and they want to keep Edelgard under control - given that she hates em and has her own agenda, that is only possible for as long as she needs them as much as they need her. If she’s their gun and Byleth’s their target she should be pointed at them, not protecting them.

I mean come on who’d believe that it’s an actual coincidence that they went for remire of all places, or that “Thomas” “there must be a mastermind” comments were actually supposed to be helpful.

Especially since Solon has been explicitly shown do be doing some machinations to the effect or turning their potential enemies against each other in the Verdant wind routes (sneaking Claude information since he showed interest in opposing the Church) - Markedly once Claude, who has zero background here, finds out that Solon is Thomas he puts his plans on hold until he knows why they want him to fight the Church.

“Thomas” dialogue is the same in BL as in the BE version of part one because as Cornelia and Thales themselves point out, having Edelgard and Dimitri fight is quite convenient for them, gets rid of both of them and leaves a nice power vacuum for them to swoop in (what actually happens is that Claude swoops in first but they’re not really aware of him as a threat at this point he’s just a bratty half pint with a precarious position at this point)

More Precious Babies fighting

Dorothea: Oh, Ferdie. You opposed Edie for so long... I had real hopes for you, you know? Now you're following her. Is that your duty as a noble? Follow your master when they say to heel? Ferdinand: I will not try to explain my duty or hers. You would not understand. I wish you could. Anyway, no time for idle chitchat!

This one’s really sad, they misunderstood each other early on and since they spent those last 5 years on opposite sides they never get to rectify that.

Shamir: I cannot bring myself to kill you... You're a princess of Brigid. A hostage of the Empire. Petra: That was the truth in the past, but it is a different truth now, Shamir... I am...the will of the emperor! Shamir: In that case, I won't hold back.

Nice touch to have those two have an unique dialogue. Shamir hardly ever gets behind any cause so she’d sympathize with someone she thinks is forced to be there.

That Petra had become a true believer at some point is apparent from the fact that she shows up in Enbarr when Edelgard’s already losing and there’s not that much to be gained from siding with her (after Edelgard explicitly told her to get out and return to lead Bridgid at Gronder)

It’s sorta like how Felix shows up in Arianrhod next to his father if you don’t recruit him.

Hubert: So, Princess of Brigid. Now we see where your loyalties truly lie. This, after we spared your life in return for naught but your fealty. How ungrateful. Petra: Ten years have been passed. The Empire has been changed, just as Brigid has!

Not cool Hubie, it’s not exactly mercy if she’s super young and it’s a war in which her parents got killed, even if it was the Dagdan leadership who started it, whether she wants to stay part of the empire or not is rly her decision.

That said he just isn’t too compromising when it comes to his enemies especially when it comes to real or perceived treason. It’s probably because they were sorta friends once that he’s so trenchant.

Ironic too given that if not recruited she because they’re different from the past leadership that ‘napped her.

Ingrid: Sylvain. This isn't funny. What are you doing? Sylvain: I'm sorry, Ingrid. I believe in what the professor is trying to do more than I do in my own country. Ingrid: Perhaps my blade will cut away the scales from your eyes!

Look at Sylvain the old cynic actually saying he believes in something. Though I suppose when it comes down to he does consistently try doing the right thing even if he doesn’t expect much out of it.

Also its highly ironic how most of these conversations have 2 versions depending on whom you recruited like it could soooo easily have been the other way around, because butterfly effect.

Tailtean Plains

Rhea: An ancestor of the Hresvelgs, who became Adrestia's first emperor... He saved me. Supported me. Gave his all to the cause of defeating Nemesis. That I should find myself here at Tailtean, striking down his scion... Edelgard: I don't advise presumptions, Rhea. I will not die by your hand.

This one’s really interesting because its the one time Rhea expresses something other than complete crushkilldestroy vindictiveness and also gives some characterization to Wilhelm of Adrestia.

Like without this you could easily get the impression that he just sold out humanity for power especially if he was a former ally of Nemesis, maybe he was passed over when the dragon bones were handed out and Seiros came and offered him some superpowers in exchange for his service. That’s surely what Edelgard believes she wants to but right what he done fucked.

But Rhea has absolutely no reason to lie here - This here makes it sound like Wilhelm was a True Believer. Like Catherine or Cyril, or Jeralt in the past. Like he followed Rhea because he actually liked her... or perhaps he was just truly against Nemesis and turned against him for moral reasons. Perhaps he wasn’t down with razing Zanado and protected Seiros because he felt responsible.

That sounds not only like he was good or at least ambiguous, but like he must’ve been really something, because here’s Seiros saying she actually liked a human - So much she remembers him years later, though she met him when the wound from the “humans killed my family” thing were still fresh. It’s wholly possible of course that one of them was using the other, or both. It’s almost making me consider if maybe the legends about him and Seiros having descendants together aren’t wholly fake.

This also makes me realize a recurring motif with Rhea/Seiros. Both Jeralt and Catherine are said to have protected her (as reckless young warriors) and got healed after that. In her supports Rhea mentions it as a big reason for why she is or was fond of Jeralt at some point.

I mean it’s still her same old selfish, emotionally shallow thinking, she only cares because they saved her, she cares only about wether you’re for her or against her and most of the humans she remotely trusts were modified by her at some point (see also how she makes the church staff drink her blood) but if you’re not against but for her, there’s an actual degree of (albeit shalllow) actual care/dedication to be had. At least she’s not ungrateful for or dismissive of good things done to her.

I mean some part of her is stuck as a little girl who wants her mommy. She’s very afraid, indeed she wants to control humans because she’s scared of their treason which took away her family. Of course she likes to be protected/ longs for protection, you get quite a bunch of support points by acting protective IIRC

Miscellaneous Claude Banter

Claude: We haven't seen each other since Garreg Mach. You've grown lovelier than ever, Edelgard. Edelgard: You're not so unfortunate yourself. And you have the aid of the professor. Frankly, I'm jealous. Now's the chance for you and the professor to leave. Claude: I'm afraid I must decline. Even if we left, we'd just have to come right back.

You know these two have pretty great banter/ are able to have some because they both keep their head against the mayhem, for all that the differing amount of edge still makes for a serious clash here and there. Dimitri got stilted politeness, crushkilldestroy, and no in-between. He either hates his enemies enough to be dead serious, or doesn’t hate them enough to say mean things to them.

kudos to El for giving them the chance to run tho.

Claude: Hey... Can you speak? Riegan: ... Claude: Just puppets controlled by Nemesis... Well, they're the strongest puppets I've ever known.

I wondered what would happen if you made one of them engage their own ancestor.

Claude: Here she is—Her Majesty—looking pleased as a dog with a stick. What exactly happened to make you this way? Edelgard: I'm simply seeing through a promise I made to myself a long time ago. Claude: Isn't this much force excessive? Thanks to you, my own long-held ambitions are nearly destroyed. Edelgard: If you don't want them to be destroyed completely, I suggest you turn tail and flee.

I wish I had the voice clip because the degree of actual personal dislike toward Team Empire that is or isn’t implied here would depend on how he says it.

Claude grew a lot less gremlin-like over the timeskip. Or I was surprised by how much on one he was in his route after not getting to see that much pf him in the other routes apart from how heroic and badass he is afterward.

Also doesnt this kinda foreshadow how things go post timeskip in her route? Though he markedly doesnt bail in his own.

also lots of people have probably called Claude a coward in Fodlan without knowing why hed actually be touchy about that and it breaks my heart a lil bit

Flayn: Edelgard! Please! Release Rhea... Release Fódlan! Edelgard: If you strike me down, they will return. I cannot permit what you desire. You are a child of the goddess. You must not be allowed power over the people!

Im glad I found this one in context since it’s often cited to claim that Edelgard’s a facist or something. It doesn’t actually pop when you fight Flayn in CF but in the Church route when you’re about to finish Edelgard in her own house. (the dialogue with Seteth is the same except there’s no ‘please’.) ″I want this specific small family group, as far as I know have terribly mismanaged the land, to be out of politics” =/= “must exterminate them all just because they’re different” She’s perfectly fine with letting them all go if they surrender/ flee.

“I cannot permit what you desire” sure doesn’t sound like she’s gleeful about killing them. Though of course the truth is that Flayn and Seteth don’t desire anything other than peace and quiet.

From her POV it’s like holding animosity against the trumps, if they aint complaining about the shit their father/husband does how good can they be?

It’s tragic that she doesn’t know Flayn and Seteth are innocent, they know they’re innocent but not what they’re innocent of (Can’t say they had nothing to do with Rheas bullshit if they do not know she did bullshit, and without that knowledge its the most natural thing in the world to oppose someone who wants to fight your sister/aunt especially if all your other relatives were brutally murdered)

One interesting bit of info here is that she knows they’re Nabateans, though she repeatedly mentions that she knows there are others (”the imaculate one and her family”)

It’s weird to think that she knew all along while she and Flayn were briefly in one class together.

But onto the quote itself as it actually is.

Kudos to Flayn for trying to talk to her/ showing that she actually means her pacifism talk tho.

I’m a bit thrown off by the “they” tho. Context would suggest that she’s talking about Rhea’s return and the continued dominance of her and her associates. Is this a wonky translation?

Could it possibly the liberation army? She and Hubert sure know that TWSITD are “planning something terrible” and taking them out sorta unleashes the storm that they’d been holding back, but then again Edelgard doesn’t know that Nemesis and the Elites were evil indeed her impression was that nemesis was good, so it makes no sense for her to mean them.

Hubert’s last stand

Everyone’s seen the “I shoulve killed you when I had the chance!” exchange that you get if you fight him with Byleth (still kinda my favorite cause he must really regret it), but apparently everyone’s favorite dark mage has an unique dialogue if engaged with

Alliance route:

Claude: It's over, lapdog. Your military rule is at its end. Hubert: For every step you take along that path, our thorns will cut into your heels. Claude: Ooh, that sounds painful. I'll have to wear thicker soles for the march. Hubert: If your boots are too heavy, you won't be able to lift your feet. But enough prattle.

Vintage. Claude’s irreverrent as ever, Hubert has one of his goth moments. Ironic how Claude seems to despise him a fair bit given how his opinion of Hubert is about to 180 once he gets the letter. Then again Claude’s in public here.

Kingdom route:

Dimitri: Hubert. I would tell you to get out of my way, but I highly doubt you would abide. Hubert: Heh. Your silver tongue will do you no good here. This is not your path to tread. Dimitri: That is not your decision to make, nor is it mine. All I can do is blaze ahead!

Ah! They interacted! Don’t think they really do anywhere else but it seems a given that they would hate each other given that each is sorta exactly the kind of person that the other tends to dislike.

I suppose there’s also the introductory line for this battle where he’s like “Ah here comes the so called savior king with his hands stained red” He clearly sees Dimitri as a hypocrite (”So because you don’t like us stopping the church by fighting them, you will stop us... by fighting us?”) but at the same time this implies that he seems to have the same misunderstanding that Felix had pre timeskip, that since he got that grizzled vindictive side to him, Dimitri’s only pretending to be civilized and noble (hence “silver tongue” and the general mocking tone), and its not really like that/ more like 2 sides of the same coin, Dedue probably explained it best. Though I doubt that he’d have much respect for Dimitri either way, they just very different peeps.

My headcanon is that Dimitri hated him at first glance, but, being Dimitri, still felt compelled to greet him in a polite and friendly manner, at some point he mentioned that he “knew Edelgard while she was staying in the kingdom” that Hubert was like “staying there is an interesting way to put it” and hated him ever since.

There might also have been some lowkey jealousy going on, or, like in Byleth’s case, Hubert simply being aware that being attached to someone who might well become their enemy is just gonna be painful for edelgard in the long run, though, I mean, he was also the one who couldn’t be arsed to say “I’m sorry for your loss” after Jeralt died. I love Hubert but he’s not particularly nice or considerate.

Church route:

Hubert: Running into you in the capital like this—I have to say, it's almost sentimental. Ferdinand: Hubert. She must leave. Hubert: You really think you can make her? Ferdinand: It does not matter what I think. Those are my orders.

This ones sad and like... wow? Was Ferdinand basically offering to let them both escape if they flee? :dddd my feelings

Edelgard would of course never do that and Hubert knows. He doesn’t think he can make her. That last bit tho seems very un-ferdie like and ironic... or does he mean that it’s his order to Hubert? Like pulling rank because he’s a Duke and Hubert’s a count?

Bonus:

Apparently Flayn’s solo ending is slightly different if Seteth dies:

Flayn, Slumbering Princess Flayn disappeared soon after the war, and after a time, proof of her very existence faded from memory. Many years later, a young woman appeared at the monastery, which had been restored to its former glory. Speaking to no one in particular, it is said that she gazed at the entrance and reverently whispered, "I am home."

Sad :(

Makes me wonder if there’s any other unique content triggered by permadeaths,

#fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses

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imnevergonnagiveyouup · 7 years ago

Note

Okay but... write about Cloud hugging Yuffie during a night terror he can't wake her up from? For the feels + unlimited hugs tho.

@jjillekkot // drabble req.

The night continues to storm, lightning blazing down from the dark clouds above. Rain pouring down with a snaring drum as thunder continues its mighty roar every so minute. Within the grassy woodlands below lies a tent with a single person sleeping within it. Another figure dashing in black not too far and within that circle of distance resting nonchalantly against a tree, using its branches and vast majority of leaves to cover himself and protect himself from the downpour above. Cloud Strife claimed by a light sleep tries to get an eye-shut of rest where he stands while Yuffie, his current companion at the moment, gets her rest within the tent provided. He’s decided to take the role of guard duty for the night, finding it only fair that he does so as she’s chosen to accompany him on his days’ worth delivery trip towards another continent. Why she wanted to tag along is beyond him but he knows better than to argue with her so here she is. A flash of lightning with the following of thunder afterwards wakes him, striking in an instant, as quick to flash as it is to disappear. A monotonous expression resting on his face when he pushes himself off the tree and looks up at stormy skies, a couple of rain drops now drizzling on him without the tree that’s been serving him as an umbrella. Maybe he should invite himself into that tent as well since he’s starting to feel the heat of those lightning strikes catching up to him. Initial thoughts that have him pacing towards the tent, but stops when he notices the tent shift a little. “Hm?” Brows furrow and some concern begins to spur alongside that.

“Yuffie?” He strays further towards the tent, with his arm raising the flap. He sees his friend curled up and as mako eyes gleam dimly against the darkness he takes notice that she’s broken into a cold sweat and that her facial features are stressed with upset. “Yuffie?” Wonder gets replaced with concern as he welcomes himself inside. He leans down by her side, hand hovering over her arm in visible hesitance, not exactly sure on what to do. “Yuffie?” He makes the choice to shake her, placing his glove on her arm, after she mumbles a couple of words in her mother tongue. “Yuffie what’s wrong?” He recognizes a person starting to experience a night terror when he sees one. Sadly. “Yuffie..” He’s a bit louder this time and that seems to make her react, shifting her position and becoming louder, a bit rowdier. The stems of this fright aren’t beyond knowledge he can’t understand since he has a decent idea of why she suffers from them. Seeing her deal with them though, now that’s a first. So his knowledge on how she handles them are limited until she starts to scream and sits up. His actions kick driven by instinct, he wraps his arms around her and tries to hold her still while she continues to struggle. “Yuffie..I’m right here.” Quietly he speaks to her. “Yuffie wake up..you’re not alone.” It’s not happening, whatever’s tormenting her isn’t happening. He flinches a couple of times at her strikes but refuses to budge. Already preparing himself for the confusion that’ll probably dawn down on her when she does wake up. It feels like an eternity this instant, but things quiet down, signs that she’s waking up.

She reacts to unwanted and unwelcomed touch the same way he does, instinct to pull away kicking in. “Yuffie it’s me,” he says simply in hopes that the chiming of his voice sets in first. Her breathing erratic by his side with no calm to it, at least not yet. Still tense against his chest and arms. “It’s Cloud.” He adds and that helps the cause. His embrace with less constriction, less force when she finds a home in his arms. It’s a foreign feeling but not an unwelcomed one; not sensitive to touch but also not one to get out of his way to do it often. “You’re..okay.” Uncertainty weaving through words that should be bringing comfort, but in all honesty he really doesn’t know a thing or two about comforting others; he can’t even do that for himself. It doesn’t stop him from trying though. “You’re alright.” With some certainty this time while his hand gently pats her back every so often. He’s looking straight ahead, watching how the flashes of lightning cast shadows of them from the inside, providing lighting sometimes. His breathing steady still in comparison to hers who’s hiccuping through breaths to steady them, her head against his firm chest. She really is so small..

He watches how her shoulders hike up here and so, starting to feel a certain wetness against his shirt. So she’s going to give herself a break, huh? She’s crying and he doesn’t need to see her to know that. At this point he isn’t sure if he’s actually helping at all or if he’s just made things worse, but she’s clinging to his shirt. Her grips’ deadly claws against black fabric, feeling some of her nails poke through his shirt in fact, drawing at his skin. He doesn’t care though. Oblivious and not experienced in fields like these..but she’s begging for support even if she hasn’t said anything. Even if all she’s been doing since she’s woken up is shed tears. Just by the way she holds him and the sobbing only becoming a little louder. “..T-There, Yuffie.” Leveling his head slightly to look down at her to only get clutched even harder. He wasn’t trying to pull away but his movements probably gave him the look like he was. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” A swear in its own right.

His lips gentle against her forehead, shut in a thin line, as he contemplates the following. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing but he doesn’t find his naivete a plausible enough reason to stop. So, he does it, he kisses her forehead, lips soft and shy with indecision against her skin. “It’s okay.” A hush against her flesh, eyes close and he simply stays in that position with her until she’s less shaken by the terrors that brought the fright out of her. If she falls asleep in his arms then that’s okay, but he isn’t moving until she’s okay, until she knows everything is okay as it can be. He won’t sleep, either. “..Everything’s okay.” Again. “I’m not leaving you.”

‘You aren’t by yourself. Not with me around.’ A thought for now..maybe a promise to voice in a future ahead of them.

#jjillekkot #* IC.#* ASKS.#* ANSWERS.#* WHAT'S A DAY WITHOUT THE SUN. (jjillekkot)#thanks satan #i'm a mess

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jotawakening-blog · 8 years ago

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1 Fentuary, 5A 169: Back to Normal (Sort Of)

With the morning, I rise to complete the preparations for the re-burial of High Priest Klenter. I hand the supplies I gathered to the embalmer, who proceeds to, well, embalm the body, as per the plan. In the meantime, I return to the carpenter and watch him put the finishing touches on the holy symbol, which is intricate carved and shaped like an ankh. The carpenter advises me to get the symbol to the temple right away: the new High Priest is hoping at the bit to start, probably because his plague spots are really bothering him.

I look for the High Priest in the temple, but he’s not there. His acolytes are still around, preparing for the ceremony, but they continue to hold me in disdain and neglect to tell me where their boss has gone. I suspect it may be to the pyramid, where the actual burial will be taking place, so I get myself over there and brave the traps for the third and, I hope, last time.

As I approach the burial chamber, having overcome the wall crushers, the pitfalls and the undead guardians, I experience another flashback to my first entry into the pyramid, while I was still under hypnosis. In the flashback, I see myself walking from the room with the canopic jars to the actual burial chamber of the High Priest, and planting Amascut’s unholy symbol inside one of the sarcophagi. I hear myself commenting on the plan’s brilliance: now, Amascut will be able to enter and exit the pyramid at her whim… and the priests won’t know a thing, still less be able to react. Having planted the symbol, I turn around and get on my way to exit the pyramid, when all goes black again and I’m in the present.

If my flashback is true, then the priests preparing to conduct the ceremony (I can hear their chanting now: they’re in the burial chamber!) are in grave danger! I hope I’m not too late to save them from the Devourer’s fury! I leap over the large pit at the heart of the pyramid and race for the inner tomb. When I open the door, the priests are already in mid-ceremony, declaiming orisons to mighty Icthlarin. I yell at them to stop the ceremony, but the High Priest refuses. I clarify that the Devourer could arrive at any moment, but no sooner do the words leave my mouth than her figure coalesces in our midst. She tells us she’s come to devour Klenter’s soul, and thanks me for making it all possible. The High Priest defies her, proclaiming that she’ll have to kill him first. Amascut, somewhat annoyed at this, commands me to slay the priests, but her hypnotic gaze, so powerful before, has no effect now that I’ve identified her for who she really is.

Though her powers have failed in relation to me, Amascut is quick to recover. Realising that there’s more than one way to, um, skin a cat (a metaphor I’m sure she loves), she directs her gaze at one of the other priests in the room, and commands him to slaughter us while she makes her escape. Fortunately, she chose poorly: the priest she possessed has slow reflexes, and two earth bolts, aimed in the ribs and in the gut, suffice to fell him before he can close half the distance to where I’m standing. Amascut must be fuming! Foiled again!

The current High Priest thanks me for saving the day, and wraps up the ceremony, telling me he hopes that the plagues will leave Sophanem soon. Unfortunately, as a barometer of the plagues, the priests’ spots don’t seem to get any better as the ceremony concludes. The High Priest considers this, and tells me there are two possibilities: either the spots will go away by themselves as the body naturally heals, or the Devourer is cleverer than we have imagined and has come up with a new way to anger the many deceased of Sophanem and keep the city under the pall of the plagues. I ask the High Priest, if it’s the latter, what I can do to help, but he replies that I’ve done all I can: there may have to be more adventurers making bad decisions under hypnosis, more burial ceremonies and so forth until Amascut gets bored and gives up. He hopes it won’t come to that, but fears that it will.

I hand over the holy symbol to him, commenting that it didn’t seem to make much of a difference in the end. ‘To the contrary’, the High Priest replies, ‘Without it in our presence, we would not have been able to complete the ceremony, nor would the possessed priest have been so easy to defeat.’ I tell him I’ll hold on to my doubts. In the meantime, I say, there’s so much about this episode that remains unanswered. For instance, why did I not carry out the Devourer’s bidding and bring the jar to her?

The feeling strikes me that I shall find out soon enough… and, sure as anything, I feel the familiar sensation of my memories being wrenched back to the past. I see myself walking toward the entrance of the tomb, canopic jar in hand, when a figure with the head of a jackal appears before me, and accuses of stealing from his domain. Could it be… Icthlarin himself?! He bids me halt. I defy him, saying that the Mistress will soon have the canopic jar in my hand even despite his intervention. He, in turn, looks deeply at me, states that I’m ‘no mere mortal’ (huh?) and commands that Amascut release me. As everything goes black around me, I feel myself stumbling out of the pyramid, and hear Icthlarin’s voice calling the spirit of Klenter up to defend his soul…

My mind snaps back to the here and now; I am back in the burial chamber with the priests. The High Priest thanks me again for my efforts and takes me with him back to the temple. I have the nagging sensation that there’s something I’m forgetting, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what. Anyway, back at the temple, the High Priest notes that the frogs and locusts haven’t disappeared, which means we haven’t been able to close the book on Amascut’s meddling with Sophanem. Still, though, we did stymie her efforts to eat Klenter’s soul and decapitate the priesthood of Icthlarin, so we win… for now. He’ll just have to get used to spots, sour milk and those damnable frogs, he says. I tell him a few cats might be able to deal with the frog problem, an assessment with which he agrees. And, to reward me for the help I have given his city, he hands me a small golden charm, in the shape of a cat’s face, telling me that, through this item of power, I should gain the ability to speak with cats: it is an amulet of catspeak! Whoa, is that so? Because if it is, that’s awesome!!

I try it out right away! I let Minou out of my pack, put the amulet on, and ask her if she fancies stretching her legs. To my delight, she replies that she is, and wants us to go adventuring! Whoa, this shit really works… that or I’ve been out in the sun for too long.

I talk to my cat for a bit, and discover some interesting things about her. When asked her age, she replies that she’s just right: not too old, and not too young, either. She misses the Varrock Sewers, it turns out, and the amazing rat hunting we had there. In fact, she wants to go hunting again! Changing the subject to more immediate matters, I confess to her that I’m still a little confused by the whole Devourer business, and tell her I was hoping she could lend me her perspective of what happened. To my surprise, she guides me into rediscovering the memory of my being hypnotised. I recall Icthlarin giving me orders to plunder Klenter’s pyramid, and handing me that unholy symbol of hers that was so damned hard to get rid of (and how did I do that, again? Oh well, the important thing is that it’s gone). She threatens to eat my soul if I fail her, and bids me go. I blindly comply, descending into the tunnel that leads into Sophanem…

After I’ve snapped back to reality, I ask Minou to give me her take on what went on with the Devourer. She gives quite a cogent analysis, putting all the pieces of the story together. What we just witnessed, she says, was a game over the soul of High Priest Klenter by two opposed gods, Icthlarin and the Devourer. I ask Minou why Amascut is a lone wanderer, why she doesn’t have a priesthood of her own. Minou speculates that it’s because, if she had a priesthood, her urge would be just to destroy it. Sounds quite plausible, actually. Okay then, I ask, why did she need to hypnotise me? Why couldn’t she have eaten Klenter’s soul herself? ‘Because of my kind— cats’, Minou responds. The cats, she tells me, have powers other than what I’ve seen— but she won’t dwell on them. Anyway, she needed an adventurer with a cat to open up the pyramid, and if that adventurer crossed her in the past, so much the better. Minou then goes over the events in my flashbacks, how I robbed the pyramid but Icthlarin interceded to break my hypnosis. And the rest is pretty easy to piece together.

Whoa, that was quite intense! It’s a shame Sophanem is still suffering from the plagues, but I suppose I’ve done all I could to lay them to rest. Before I leave, I spend some time going around the city and seeing how the locals are managing. The embalmer, for instance, believes that the continued plagues are caused by Klenter’s famous vindictiveness and his seeming capacity to hold a grudge forever. The slaves, meanwhile, are upset with me for almost ending their vacation, and for giving that tyrant Klenter a decent burial. I remind them that I actually haven’t achieved a whole lot in stopping the plagues, so there’s no need to be so critical. The carpenter, for his part, is adjusting nicely, and has already found a new supplier of willow logs who will be able to deliver them to him despite the quarantine. Raetul, the clothier, resents me for not solving the town’s problems, but he will trade with me, because the quarantine has deprived him of his customers. Unfortunately, his stock isn’t all that interesting to me right now. Most interesting is the Sphinx, who commends me for doing my part to thwart Amascut’s plans, but rebuffs my pleas for help with the task of putting the plagues to rest, saying I’ve done my part in this battle, and that this is now a matter for the Menaphite authorities and the priesthood of Icthlarin. I suppose that’s true: I wouldn’t want to spend months on end here trying to intercept all the unwitting slaves the Devourer hypnotises into doing her bidding!

Still, given that the plagues aren’t gone, there’s one more thing that I feel confident in doing: I’d like to have a look around the northern pyramid, the one on the opposite side of the road from Klenter’s. To enter this one, a cat is not required: I can just walk in through the front door, and the slaves milling around don’t seem to care. Perhaps they think that if I cause even more plagues, they will have an even longer vacation?

Furtively, I slip through the doors of the pyramid, emerging into a set of four disconnected tombs, one on each side of the structure. Three are empty, but in the fourth, I encounter a mummy guardian! It is, frankly, sick and tired of ‘archaeologists’ and grave robbers at this point, so it offers me a deal: the main burial chambers are strictly off-limits, but it can let me into an area containing minor treasures… if one is skilful enough to steal them. These treasures are of recent make, but they might be just the thing for a greedy archaeologist who won’t know the real stuff when he sees it. So, the mummy will get me in, as long as I promise to sell the decoy artefacts to Simon Templeton (‘Simpleton’, the guardian mummy calls him) and leave the true tomb alone. It’s a deal!

I go through a panel that the mummy opens in the wall and emerge into a chamber packed with urns of various sizes and a stone sarcophagus in the centre. To get to the items, I have to pass a spear trap, which catches me off-guard and lightly stabs me the first time, but is easy to bypass once one knows it exists. Once I’m through to the main chamber, I loot the urns, some of which contain mildly poisonous snakes. I gather artefacts from the urns, dodging snakes as I do, and soon have the remaining space in bag filled with artefacts.

Since I’ve got no more space in my bag, I take my finds and leave the tomb, and the city, and traverse the desert to the rough-hewn stone pyramid outside town where I’ve heard Simon Templeton has made his camp. Along the way, I pass a small hollow positively glittering with gold veins! It’s remote, sure, but there could be pretty good profit in mining it…

Simon’s camp is easy enough to find, and I’m able to make a deal with the unscrupulous archaeologist in no time, receiving some five hundred coins for the artefacts that I’ve stolen. Not a bad deal, considering they’re probably worth maybe a third of what he paid me for them. I ask him what he’s doing down here, and he tells me of his plans to plunder this pyramid for artefacts. Unfortunately, an old back injury that he gained when he was still working for the Varrock Museum, which he blames on them not paying him enough to afford decent equipment, is preventing him from going in himself, and he’s hiring adventurers instead, at a rate of 1000 coins per artefact found. That’s not a bad deal, but I feel I’ve already antagonised the locals enough, and would not want to do any more harm. So, I get on my broom and blast off to Al-Kharid, eager to return to my other duties.

The broomstick, if you’ll recall, teleports me to the Sorceress’s Garden, a pocket-plane of sorts watched over by the enchantress’s big, mean cat. Given that I can now speak to cats, I strike up a conversation with this one. It looks at me with distrust, apparently nonchalant about the fact I can talk to it, and asks me what I’m doing in the mistress’s garden. I tell him (his name, it turns out, is Del-Monty, which probably means something in Kharidian) I usually come here hunting for sq’irks. He is surprisingly willing to help me in this, noting that I’m a friend of the feline. I guess that’s my encounter with the Sphinx rubbing off! Anyway, he tells me a few things I didn’t know about the gardens. For one, the spectral beings that patrol them and kick out intruders are actually the gardeners. That makes sense. I then ask why the gardens are all in different seasons. If I’m asking how it’s done, Del-Monty says, it should be obvious: magic. If I want to know why the Sorceress maintains the gardens in these four states, the answer is also intuitive: she likes to have a ready supply of in-season herbs and sq’irks year-round.

Like I said, I’m not up for any more stealing today, so I thank the cat for his time and teleport out into Al-Kharid proper, to continue onward toward Asgarnia. Before I can get out of the city, however, I’m intercepted by a patrol of Emir Ali’s guards, who inform me that Osman, the spymaster, would like a word with me. I ask them if this is about the troubles in Sophanem, and they confirm that it is. I follow them to the palace, where Osman, stressing that I’m not in trouble and am free to leave at any time, asks that I relate to him my adventure down south, because any intelligence that would help locate the Kharid’Ib and discern the Menaphites’ next moves is of value. I tell him what I know, and he seems to think the news is good: both the Menaphites and Amascut have their attention tied up in Sophanem, making them less able to move on other fronts. Pleased, he hands me an amulet, which he says will mark me as a loyal associate of Al’Kharid and give me some advantages among the locals. Specifically, I will be looked upon more favourably by the authorities at the mage training arena, and carpet merchants from Ali Morrisane’s fleet may sometimes have kickbacks to give me. The amulet is also enchanted to help me in combat, as well as in collecting water from cacti, and there may be some minor luck effects on it as well. Great, thanks so much! Along with the amulet, I also obtain a spirit lamp, which I inhale from. When I do, my mind is filled with a vision of Saradomin granting me the power to dodge incoming attacks with preternatural skill. That will also be of help, I’m sure!

And now, it’s time to get back to my regularly scheduled tasks. I head to the bank in Al’Kharid to drop off my excess baggage and superfluous desert gear, and take out Remora’s necklace and use it to warp to Port Sarim, where Alfred Grimhand’s bar crawl continues at the Rusty Anchor tavern. On the streets of Port Sarim, I run into my old acquaintance Meg, who is eager to tell me about her latest adventures! Well, ‘eager’ is perhaps the wrong word, because it didn’t go as planned for her. Still, she managed to get a few thousand coins and a spirit lamp, and gives me some of the coins and the lamp as thanks for my help. As usual, I give her some adventuring advice, this time mostly concerning an army of undead that needs dealing with. I’m not sure where Meg is going with this, but I help her out as best I can and see her off. Once I’m alone, I put the end of the spirit lamp she gave me to my mouth and draw into me the spirit within. I get a brief vision of traversing a vast hall of furniture, and stooping down by each piece to inspect how it was put together.

When the vision fades, I continue on to the Rusty Anchor, where I show the bartender my bar crawl card and ask him what the poison in his establishment is. He looks at me apprehensively, saying I’m a bit skinny for the challenge, but notes the signatures I’ve already obtained and sells me a Black Skull ale. It’s heady stuff, but, honestly, probably the mildest of the bar crawl drinks I’ve had so far. Indeed, I’m more than sober enough to arrange a hammock for the night, which beats sleeping on the bare floor in my own house. And so, with sea shanties ringing in my ears, I fall asleep and await the morrow.

#runescape #journal #roleplay #cat #amulet

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